


Shrinkwrapped

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [34]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bring a change of clothes to school; black doesn't stain; duets, unlikely songs for a show choir, and family; the Bachmanns aren't just a caricature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Santana doesn't know what to think.

She'd like to think it's because she doesn't have time to think, or because she's too busy acting. Or maybe because she's involved instead in protecting Brittany or interpreting the world for her (and her for the world).

The truth is, though, she doesn't know what to think or what to do, either one. First because all of it seems so random; then because everything, absolutely everything is coming crashing down around her, around Brittany, and, she realizes, around all of them.

The safe spaces aren't safe, the rules are broken, and Santana has to stand back up.

 

Luke Johannson doesn't need the knee brace any more, he doesn't even have a limp, but his high school football career is over regardless. Fucking Hudson, fucking queer-loving Hudson, and his stupid fucking friends. Johannson's spent too much time feeling like he's got to watch his back at this stupid school, because it's all been falling to shit lately, with that stupid pee-fag club and everybody thinking they can change the natural order of things just because they're all so politically correct now.

Well, something’s changing. Something’s going down and maybe things are gonna start being put to right around this place again. Maybe a little bit of shit’s gonna start raining down on the right people, like Hudson and his singing queers. Maybe Johannson’ll help raise some ruckus around here, starting with Karofsky’s little butt buddy.

Fordham and Lockheed have him cornered over by a stairwell, and Johannson’s been looking to get some kind of payback ever since that little bitch ratted him out and sent Hudson and Karofsky after him. Fordham presses a 32 ounce cup into Johannson’s hand, and hell, maybe nobody’d even notice a little cherry slushie, since the kid’s pretty much that color half the time anyway.

“Looks like he’s gonna _cry_ ,” Fordham says, and Fordham’s right, the kid really does look he’s going to.

He oughta cry, maybe he’ll go cry to his big queer-loving buddies, like the little tattletale he is, and maybe this time, Johannson’ll do something about it. Johannson smirks and tosses his cup full into Casey’s face, and Fordham and Lockheed follow suit.

“Tattletale _that_ , faggot.”


	2. Episode 3x17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist for this episode](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL09469EC886146273)

“Ellen’s Stardust Diner!” Schue announces as he enters the room at the beginning of fourth period. Puck is actually thankful that it’s Friday for even more reasons than usual; not having to dance for forty-five minutes in the middle of the day is a welcome break. He’s pretty sure Finn’s going to want to add another rehearsal soon, but he’ll take what he can for now.

“What about it?” Rachel asks, literally sitting on the edge of her seat.

“That’s the prize for our duets competition: a gift card to Ellen’s Stardust Diner to use while we’re in New York City winning Nationals!”

“Oh! That’s so exciting!” Rachel looks like she’s going to fall out of her seat now. “I can’t wait to get back to New York!”

“You and me both,” Puck mutters under his breath, though Kurt’s the only one who hears him, nudging his foot in response.

“So we have three more pairs today, right? Who’s with who and who’s going next?”

“Britt and I have a song,” Santana says with a large grin, walking over to the piano and saying something quickly to Brad. “I hope you’ll all enjoy this little bit of heteronormativity.”

Puck nearly snorts with laughter, and Kurt does giggle for a moment as the music starts; leave it to Santana and Brittany to have a similar thought. Brittany starts singing first.

_I got chills, they’re multiplyin’  
And I’m losin’ control  
‘Cause the power you’re supplyin’  
It’s electrifying!_

Puck nearly loses it when Santana starts in on Sandy’s part.

_You better shape up  
‘Cause I need a man  
And my heart is set on you  
You better shape up  
You better understand  
To my heart I must be true_

Then they start singing together and dancing, and almost everyone is grinning.

_You’re the one that I want  
You oo oo honey  
The one that I want  
You oo oo honey  
The one that I want  
You oo oo honey  
are what I need  
Oh yes indeed_

Everyone cheers for them at the end, and both girls are grinning widely. “Nice ironic choice,” Schue says with a nod and a grin. “Who’s up?”

“Mike and I!” Tina grins. “We have a fun song, too.”

“All right, let’s hear it.”

There’s a brief grin on Brad’s face when Mike whispers the song into his ear, and then Brad begins to play.

Puck, Kurt, Sam, Artie, and Brittany all start to grin when they recognize the tune and Tina begins to sing.

_This is the man I plan to entangle  
Isn’t he fine?_

After she finishes her verse, Mike begins his.

_She is the one she’s such wonderful fun  
Such passion and grace  
Warm in the night when I’m right in her tight-  
embrace, tight embrace_

Then at last together

_’Cause there’s nothing to tell_

There’s a lot of applause as Tina and Mike take their bows.

“That’s a great idea for a true classic duet,” Schue laughs, and Puck admits he’s a little surprised that Schue’s a Buffy fan, but then he figures it’s not all that strange. “I guess then that means you two are singing together,” Schue adds, nodding at Puck and Kurt.

“Yep.” Puck nods and they walk to the front, doing their best not to laugh. “We wanted to do something classic, too.”

“Oh, okay, great, let’s hear it.”

Puck exchanges a grin with Kurt as he starts to play the music, then starts to sing.

_They say we're young and we don't know  
We won't find out until we're grown_

There’s a few grins as Kurt begins.

_Well I don't know if all that's true  
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you_

Puck leans towards Kurt as they sing the chorus.

_Babe  
I got you babe  
I got you babe_

They continue through the rest of the song, hamming it up, and there’s lot of laughter amongst the applause at the end.

“They’re laughing at us,” Puck says to Kurt, pretending offense.

“I can’t imagine why.” Kurt shakes his head, almost pouting.

“Me either.” Puck manages to hold a straight face for a few minutes longer before they both explode into gales of laughter along with most of the rest of the room.

“That was great, guys.” Schue seems genuinely complimentary. “Okay, this is a really hard decision! All six duos chose good songs and you definitely gave your all in your performances.” He sighs. “Seriously, I wish I could give you all a prize. However. The winners of our 2012 Duets Competition are... Mike and Tina!”

“Eeee!” Tina literally squeals, and Mike picks her up in a hug and twirls her around twice before setting her down so she can claim the gift card. “Thank you!”

Puck and Kurt exchange brief smiles and clap for Tina and Mike; they knew they weren’t going to win, and from the look they see Brittany and Santana exchange, they didn’t expect to win either.

Once everyone’s quieted down, Schue raises his voice again. “One last thing. I want us to think outside the box when it comes to our selections for Regionals and, later, Nationals. So for next week, think about unlikely songs for a show choir. All right?” There are a few nods, a couple of groans, and some intrigued looks; after all, they haven’t even thought about their Nationals set, even if Schue doesn’t realize that the Regionals set is selected, arranged, and choreographed already. “Great! See you Monday; have a great weekend.”

 

Puck ends up staying an extra thirty minutes with the piano professor, and then he discovers that he and Kurt were voluntold to go grocery shopping and pick up Chinese for dinner.

“So Carole agreed to Chinese?”

“Apparently.” Kurt shrugs. “Dad handed me the cash this morning and said to bring it home with me. I wasn’t going to argue.”

“No, no, definitely not,” Puck agrees, shaking his head. Unsurprisingly, it takes awhile for all of the food they order to be ready, and everyone else is already milling around the kitchen and living room when they walk into the house, laden down with bags of food, from Ray’s and China Wok both.

“That smells _awesome_ ,” Finn says. “Oh man, it’s so,” he lowers his voice, “ _not Mexican_!”

“What was that, honey?” Carole calls from the living room. “Did you boys find everything?”

“I hope so,” Puck answers, hefting one of the bags onto the table. “Couldn’t’ve carried any more.”

“My kung pao shrimp in there?” Burt says, appearing in the doorway. “I’ve been _dreaming_ about that stuff today, I swear.”

“It is, Dad.” Kurt pulls a box out of one of his bags, then a second, smaller box. “Along with your _brown_ rice.”

“Long as it’s not Spanish rice,” Burt mutters, under his breath.

Carole bustles into the kitchen at that moment. “Oh, that smells good!” She laughs a little. “I admit, I was so excited when Sharon sent me all those Mexican recipes. We were talking about theme nights and I mentioned I didn’t really have any Mexican food that we made regularly except for the enchiladas, and well.” She shrugs. “I just couldn’t decide which ones to try first!”

“Guess you found a way around that problem, huh?” Finn asks, and Burt smacks him on the back of the head. “What?!”

“Uncool, dude,” Puck mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Well, at least you have plenty to rotate over several months now,” Kurt says to Carole almost too casually.

“That’s true!” Carole agrees. “Ooh, Szechuan chicken, my favorite.”

“ _What?_ ” Finn keeps saying. “I didn’t say anything you weren’t all thinking,” he adds, pointing accusingly at Puck, Kurt, and Burt in turn.

“Remember our conversation about _filters_ , Finn?”

“Uh, maybe?” Finn says. “The one about how I don’t have them or the one about how I should get some?”

“Both.” Kurt rolls his eyes and grabs his own food, taking a seat.

“Your house would be a lot less exciting if Finn had them, though,” Puck points out.

“I’m sorry I said you were cooking too much Mexican food, Mom,” Finn says, giving Carole a huge shit-eating grin. “I promise I’ll never say it again, even if it’s true.”

“Oh, Finn.” Carole shakes her head with a large sigh. “I guess you can have your dessert after all,” she continues, hitting the back of Finn’s head with a dishtowel.

“Thanks, Mom!”

“Do I get dessert after, too?” Burt asks. “I’ve been awfully good. See? Shrimp, not beef or pork.”

“I had Kurt pick up fro yo for you, honey,” Carole answers, nodding.

“Better be the fudge brownie kind.”

“They were out, Dad. So I got Half Baked instead.”

“Oh well, I’ll survive, I guess,” Burt sighs.

“We can stock up next time,” Kurt offers. “Finn, I got you one of the new flavors–What a Cluster.”

Finn laughs. “Heh. Funny. What’s in it?”

“Peanut butter and marshmallow and caramel.”

“Ooh, it has all the things,” Finn says, widening his eyes. “I approve.”

“Except chocolate,” Puck says. “Why do they even make ice cream that doesn’t have chocolate?”

“For the people that are allergic?” Kurt suggests. “And I have a feeling you’d say that about any dessert.”

“Well, yeah.”

Finn shrugs. “It’s sweet. That’s pretty much my only qualification for dessert.”

“I fully expect Puck to turn into a chocolate snob,” Kurt shrugs.

“Hey.” Puck purses his lips. “Wait, is that a bad thing or a good thing?”

“Yes?”

“Why’s Puck gonna be a snob?” Finn asks, mouth full of lo mein.

“I think that the sturdy Midwestern, ah, _cuisine_ has merely delayed Puck’s potential as a foodie,” Kurt says with a grin. “Must be genetic, with the way Hannah carries on about food, too.”

“Hey, she wants to cook it, I just want to eat it.”

“Two sides of the same coin.”

“Nothing wrong with Midwestern cuisine,” Burt says. “Meat and potatoes is good for a man.”

“So are vegetables with actual colors, sweetie,” Carole says, smiling. “Nothing wrong with having something with your meat and potatoes, right?”

“Sure, toss some carrots or green beans on there.”

“Or both, and lose the potatoes,” Kurt says, though it’s almost like he’s reading a script. If Burt says this, then Kurt says that.

“Shrimp!” Burt says, gesturing at his plate.

“That’s a terrible thing to call your own son,” Finn says. “Even if it is kinda true.”

“Frankenteen,” Kurt shoots back, glaring venomously at Finn.

“At least I can reach the top shelves, dude. Anyway, apparently some guys are into portable boyfriends.”

“Hey!” Puck and Kurt chorus together, and now both of them are glaring suspiciously at Finn.

“What? He’s travel size. It’s a compliment. You remember how squished I was on the plane last year?” Finn shakes his head. “It was awful. My knees were in my _face_.”

“We’re the same height, dude. I know that may have escaped your notice, since we’re still apparently midgets from such a great height as yours, but.”

“Yeah, but if Kurt turns sideways, he disappears,” Finn points out. “He’s, what’s that word? Starts with ‘l’ and means, like, skinny and bendy or whatever.”

“I think you mean lithe, Finn honey,” Carole interjects.

“Yeah, that. Kurt’s lithe, like, um, something else lithe,” Finn says, squishing his eyebrows together. “I’d say ballerina, but then you’ll be all pissed off again. Like a man-ballerina.”

“Oh, god,” Kurt groans, shaking his head.

“Like a... dancer?” Puck says, exaggerating the pause before the last word.

“Sure. That’s it.”

“Or, you know, you could call Mike a ‘man-ballerina,’” Puck suggests. “Try that on Sunday night.”

“I might do that. I bet he’d be flattered. He’s a bro-llerina.”

“Clearly you should go into linguistics,” Kurt offers dryly.

“Dude, _you’re_ the bendy one, not me!” Finn protests.

Kurt looks at Finn, puzzled. “I don’t even know what you _think_ linguistics means, except that it’s obviously incorrect.”

Finn shrugs. “I dunno, man. You’re the one who keeps coming up with this stuff.”

“You’re the one creating new words, though.”

“I know! It’s awesome, isn’t it?”

“Hence the linguistics suggestion. Though that’s studying words, not creating them, so perhaps not.”

“Nah, I’m gonna go with the music education thing,” Finn says, around a big bite of Mongolian beef. “I think that’d make more sense.”

“I think _you’d_ make more sense.”

“Your face would make more sense.”

“Yes.” Kurt nods. “My face alone makes more sense than all of you. It’s good you understand these things.”

“Hey, I’m smart that way,” Finn says. “I’m practically a genius.”

“Strange,” Puck muses. “I’ve never heard anyone else say that.”

“I’m so smart, I came up with it all by myself.”

“That explains _so much_ ,” Kurt replies fervently, and Puck nods his agreement.

 

Kurt looks almost _too_ excited for a January Saturday in Lima when he picks Puck up just after lunch. "Ready?"

"I don't know," Puck says slowly. "What am I supposed to be ready for?"

"Oh, well. I thought perhaps we'd head this direction," Kurt says vaguely, gesturing at the road in front of him as he drives somewhat northward.

"What's up here? Besides Waffle House and the Mexican place?"

"Fifty-four dollars for ten hours–well, ten hours that _we_ can use. How about that?"

Puck grins slowly. "Nice. What inspired this?"

"Nothing in _particular_ ," Kurt answers slowly. "But we're losing part of our Tuesdays for awhile, plus you and I both know that Finn's going to add at least one more rehearsal soon. It seemed like maybe we should take advantage of this day that's empty of commitments."

"True." Puck nods. "Okay. Can we check in now?" he adds with a grin.

"I don't see why not," Kurt giggles a little as they pull into the lot. "Want me to check us in, or should we make it obvious?"

"Oh, let's make it obvious," Puck nods, his smile growing even wider and then turning into a smirk.

“Excellent.” They climb out of the Nav and walk into the lobby, Puck’s hands in his pockets until they step through the automatic doors. He pulls his right hand free and slides that arm around Kurt’s shoulders. It _could_ be just a friendly gesture.

“Hello,” Kurt says mildly to the disinterested man behind the counter, who is sporting a mullet and a sullen expression.

“Help you?” the man, whose name tag announces ‘TOMMY’ says. He barely glances up at Kurt.

“We’d like to check in,” Kurt responds, raising an eyebrow at Puck, who shrugs. “One room, one night, please.”

Tommy the motel clerk looks up at Kurt and then over at Puck. “Two doubles?”

“One king,” Puck counters.

The clerk’s eyebrows slowly rise up into his hairline as understanding dawns. “Uh...yeah, lemme see what we have.” He clicks through a few menus on the computer screen. “Yeah, ok. We’ve got a couple of kings left. Fifty-four a night, unless you’re military.” He looks at Puck and Kurt again. “You’re not, though, huh?”

“No,” Kurt shakes his head, rolling his eyes slightly. He pulls out his debit card and hands it to Tommy.

“Are you a pinball wizard?” Puck asks.

“Huh?” Tommy just looks confused. “I just work here, okay?”

“Didn’t figure you were.” Puck sighs. “Too bad, K. A pinball wizard’s got such a supple wrist.”

Kurt snorts back a laugh and slaps half-heartedly at Puck’s stomach. “Stop it.”

Tommy looks at them askance and holds out the key card without a word. When they don’t take it fast enough, he jabs it in their direction.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, a little edge to his voice as he takes the card with the tips of his fingers. “Is check-out at the desk or in-room?”

“Desk,” Tommy answers, already looking back down at the top of the desk, where he’s got an open car-related magazine. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, we _will_ ,” Puck calls back over his shoulder as they walk out, Kurt groaning a little and then laughing.

"Is that a promise, baby?" Kurt murmurs as they exit back into the sunshine and walk around the corner to find their assigned room. By luck, Kurt's parked almost in front of it, so they bypass moving the Nav and insert the key card into the door.

Puck shifts from foot to foot as Kurt opens the door and turns on the light, and as soon as Puck crosses the threshold, he turns, locks the door, and then grabs Kurt to him. He drags his lips over Kurt's, pushing his tongue into Kurt's mouth until Kurt's tongue comes to meet him, and there's a faint taste of tomato and turkey over Kurt.

Kurt pulls away after a moment and gasps. "Dropped the key."

"Worry about it later," Puck insists, hands under Kurt's shirt, and really, the fact that Kurt only had on a single layer should have tipped him off even earlier. He pulls the garment off and tosses it in the vague direction of the bed, and then Kurt's hands are under his own sweatshirt and wifebeater both, tugging upwards. When their chests collide again, Kurt's warm skin meets his, and Puck tangles his fingers in Kurt's hair, kissing him hard and sloppy.

Kurt responds by kissing back just as fiercely, his hands working at Puck's jeans and forcing them down. Puck toes his shoes off and awkwardly gets out of his socks, jeans, and underwear all without moving his mouth from Kurt's. Kurt's hand closes around Puck's already rock-hard erection, sliding slowly down its length, and Puck moves abruptly into the touch.

Puck reaches for Kurt's own jeans, then, working them off quickly. Kurt moves his hand from Puck and lets their cocks align, skin rubbing and sticking to skin. Puck moves his mouth from Kurt's and onto Kurt's neck, nibbling a path over Kurt's jaw, down his throat, and then carefully onward to Kurt's chest. Puck drops to his knees and licks at Kurt's cock, flattening his tongue against the underside, then curling it around the tip. Kurt stumbles backwards slightly and Puck moves with him, repeating the same actions twice more before standing up again and brushing his lips over Kurt's.

Kurt tugs him forward, bringing their bodies close together, and Puck absently notices that they're basically in the bathroom now. His eyes close as he moves his mouth to Kurt's again, and as they do, he gets a slight glimpse of the two of them in the mirror. He whimpers a little into Kurt's mouth and forces his eyes back open, looking at the mirror. _Fuck that's hot._ And it is, watching their mouths moving, the occasional glimpse of a tongue, and their fully naked bodies pressing against each other.

Puck manages to find Kurt's hand and then slowly moves it until Kurt's hand is on his ass and Kurt's finger almost brushing his entrance. Kurt pulls away slowly and buries his face against Puck's neck. His breath is warm on Puck's skin and Puck can't help but pull Kurt a little closer. "I know what you want," Kurt whispers against Puck's neck, and Puck just nods. Kurt pulls away for a moment, making Puck pout and put his hand against the open door. Puck grins a little when it registers what's under his hand–another, longer mirror. Kurt's hands slide around Puck's waist then, and Kurt pulls Puck flush against him. "I told you that I know what you want," Kurt says, tone smug, and one hand vanishes.

Puck bites down on his lip as he nods his agreement, Kurt pushing two slicked fingers into him at the same moment. He rocks his hips backward, turning his head to watch Kurt's hand disappearing into him. "Oh, shit, Kurt."

Kurt rests his head between Puck's shoulder blades, grinning at their reflection. "I know, baby." He adds another finger and tightens his arm around Puck's waist. "I know." He pumps his fingers in and out of Puck a few more times before pulling them free. Kurt's hand loosely pumps up and down Puck's cock and then grasps his hip as he nudges his cock at Puck's entrance.

Puck watches the mirror closely. Slowly, more and more of Kurt's cock just disappears, until none of it is visible. Kurt's hand is bright against the darker tone of Puck's skin, and Kurt–Kurt looks _stunning_ , his cheeks slightly flushed and lips parted. The barest tip of his tongue is protruding, head tilted back, and Puck groans a little, watching the two of them move together.

"Look at you, baby," Kurt murmurs. "Look at your ass, just swallowing me up, and your cock, baby, it's just _dripping_." Puck looks down, almost startled, as Kurt's finger darts along the tip, swirling the fluid that is, in fact, leaking from it. "Is this mine, Puck? Is this for me?" he adds, trailing his fingers down Puck's length.

"Fuck, yes," Puck answers, gasping. "All yours, K." He keeps his eyes locked with Kurt's via the mirror, Kurt moving faster and his hand closing around Puck's cock. "K, so, fuck, so hot, just, _Kurt_." Kurt's head nods a little and Puck tightens around him. "So fucking beautiful, blue eyes."

"Come for me, baby," Kurt whispers, thrusting up hard and almost squeezing his hand as he moves it up and down Puck's erection. "Puck, baby, come all over my hand."

The words combined with the sight are more than enough, and Puck comes hard, yelling Kurt's name. Kurt thrusts into him again and again for half a minute, then comes as well, sagging against Puck's back as Puck leans heavily on the wall. "Mmm," Puck mutters, and Kurt echoes the noise after a moment.

"How many hours again?"

"Lots more," Kurt giggles.

"Mmm. Good."

 

Monday starts fine; a little tired, after the rest of Saturday, working a full shift Sunday morning, and a rehearsal at Mike’s that stretches towards three or four hours instead of two, but nothing out of the ordinary.

The first hint of something amiss comes in physics. Kurt’s wearing a different shirt than he was earlier, and Puck frowns. “Slushie? Really?”

Kurt nods, scowling. “Some kid I don’t even remember seeing before in my life. He muttered something but I didn’t catch it.”

Puck gets hit on the way to English. Rachel’s cream-colored sweater has a green tinge near the neck, and she takes one look at Puck before making an inarticulate noise of rage. “You too?”

“Yeah. They got Kurt before physics.”

“So we’re all targets?”

“I don’t know.” Puck tunes out his English teacher and spends most of the class texting Kurt, who managed to get hit a second time. They establish that he and Rachel will go over to Kurt’s classroom (where Mike and Tina are as well, Tina the victim already of two slushies, like Kurt, and Mike a single one) and then head to the choir room together, all five of them.

The plan works perfectly at first; Puck and Rachel join the other three without incident. They’re almost to the choir room, in fact, when Puck hears a noise behind them. A quick glance confirms it’s four slushie-wielding idiots.

“Run!” he and Mike yell simultaneously, and all five of them take off. Puck takes a minute to be thankful that Kurt’s in Doc Martens and not loafers, like Rachel; he slows for half a second to grab Rachel’s hand, trying to pull her faster, and Mike does the same on her other side, which means all three of them get freezing cold corn syrup down their backs. They keep moving, though, and Kurt swings the door shut behind them.

“Aw, shit, they got you guys, too?” Finn asks. His hair is tinged blue and his shirt is more than tinged.

“Twice,” all five of them chorus.

“Yeah, me too,” Artie says. “No respect for how hard it is to clean that stuff out of my chair.”

“What about the rest of you?” Kurt asks, grabbing a box of tissues from the office off to the side and handing it to Puck, using a few on Rachel’s back.

“Just the one, but it was _blue_ ,” Finn says.

“Three,” Quinn practically growls through her teeth. “Two of them caught me at once, and one got me on the way here.”

“Damn, girl,” Mercedes shakes her head. “I only got hit once, but that’s because Sam took one for me.” She squeezes Sam’s hand, and he ducks his now-red-and-green head almost sheepishly.

“It’s not a big deal, ‘Cedes.”

“Where’s Brittany and Santana?” Puck asks as the bell rings.

“Hang on, I’ll call her,” Quinn says, pulling out her phone. “Ugh. My phone is going to be so gross.”

Kurt’s phone suddenly starts singing “Government Hooker,” and he pulls it out quickly. “Brittany?” There’s a long pause, but Puck can’t make out what Brittany’s saying on the other end. “Britt, sweetie, calm down, talk slower, I can’t...” Puck watches Kurt’s face drain of color. “ _What?_ ” He turns to Puck. “Jewfro’s blog, on your phone, now.”

“Oh, shit,” Finn murmurs.

“Britt. Britt. Where are you now?” Another pause, while Puck fumbles with his phone, pulling up the page. “We’ll come help you. Okay? Okay. Hang on, Brittany. Just stay there.” He hangs up and turns to Puck. “Well?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” is all Puck can say, staring at the phone and then shoving it into Kurt’s hand. Finn quickly grabs a trashcan and hands it to Puck without a word. Even retching into the wastebasket, he can tell the minute Kurt reaches the worst part.

“‘...confirmed after several days of investigation spurred by a conversation involving at least one of her fellow glee club members. Guess this gives a whole new meaning to Nude Erections!’” Kurt’s voice is icy. “If I ever find out which one of you did this to her, the three of us are going to _hold you down_ while Santana does _whatever the fuck she wants_. And then when she’s done? We’ll eviscerate you.”

“Yeah we will,” Finn snarls. “Especially that last part, because I don’t know what it is, but it sounds horrible like you deserve for doing that to her.”

“What? What did they do?” Rachel says, and Puck straightens, wiping the back of his mouth. Rachel’s still lost, obviously.

“Jewfro outed Santana on his blog.”

Rachel’s eyes get wider and wider and it takes Puck a minute to realize that she’s _shaking_ , her mouth narrowing. “I’m going to hunt him down and _kill_ him.”

“As much as I agree with the sentiment,” Kurt says, putting a hand on her arm. “We need to go to Brittany. She can’t find Santana.”

“Where is she?” Mercedes asks, already standing.

“Near the cafeteria. I told her to wait for us there.”

 

Brittany’s Cheerios uniform is stained with a rainbow of colors and her hair is still dripping with slushie when they find her by the cafeteria, slumped against a wall. Worse, though, are her frantic tears.

“I looked everywhere. _Everywhere_!” she sobs. “Even in her locker. Even in the boys’ bathrooms.”

“Oh, Britt.” Kurt stops next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder without even wincing at the slushie. “Come on. We’ll find her.” There’s a little bit of a commotion as Mike runs up with an entire stack of towels, throwing two of them at Kurt, who wraps them around Britt.

“I just don’t understand, Kurt,” she sniffles. “Did Lord Tubbington tell him?”

“No, sweetie. Someone said something where he could overhear them, but it wasn’t Lord Tubbington. He’s been keeping all your secrets lately, hasn’t he?” Kurt exchanges a look with Puck, and Puck purses his lips, thinking. There aren’t many places Santana could be, if Brittany truly has managed to look everywhere. He shrugs. Maybe.

Mercedes and Tina come forward, each of them taking one side of Brittany, and Kurt nods them in the direction of the choir room. Sam and Mike turn to follow them, Mike first handing a few more of the towels to Puck. Puck looks at Artie for a minute, and then Artie nods, nudging Quinn slightly. “We’ll go tell Schue that we’re running late today.”

Quinn nods and she and Artie disappear down the hall. Brittany leans against Kurt. “What if she’s hurt? Or in jail?” she whispers.

“She’s fine,” Kurt reassures her, but Puck can tell from the set of Kurt’s jaw that he’s not convinced. “You let Mercedes and Tina take care of you, okay? And we’ll go find Santana and bring her to you.”

“Ok,” Brittany says, giving Kurt a sticky hug before allowing Mercedes and Tina to lead her off to Coach Sylvester’s office to get cleaned up and find a spare uniform.

Puck turns back to Kurt, Finn, and Rachel. “You think Britt made it all the way over to the stadium?”

“I bet she never made it that far,” Finn says. “Not after that many slushies.”

“Let’s check there first.” Puck frowns. “If she’s still in the building, she’ll probably try to head to Sylvester’s office now that the bell’s rung.”

“Okay,” Kurt nods, sighing. “What the _fuck_ was someone thinking?” he adds as they push open the door to the outside.

"They probably weren’t,” Finn mutters. “You know how they are.”

_“Who do you think it was?” Rachel asks, her mouth still set in the same narrow line._

_“Quinn.” “Mercedes.” “Quinn.”_

_“Oh.” Rachel blinks. “All right, no consensus,” she concludes. “I doubt we’ll get any sort of confession, anyway.”_

_“Why, who’d you think it was?” Puck asks._

_“Artie.”_

_“Yeah, I can see that,” Finn nods. “Still a little bitter.”_

_“Especially with what happened recently with Mindy,” Rachel adds, shrugging. “I only know who it wasn’t, really.”_

_“Yeah, Santana, Brittany, and the four of us,” Puck scoffs._

_“It wouldn’t be Mike, either,” Finn says. “You know how he is about Brittany. He’d never do something like that to her.”_

_“That’s true. It’s like she’s his little sister or something.” Puck sighs and wraps an arm around Kurt’s shoulders as they reach the stadium locker rooms. Sure enough, the door is slightly ajar. Puck pushes the door open and they walk in quietly._

_“Santana?” Kurt calls out._

_There’s a shuffling sound, and then a snarl. “Who’s with you?”_

_“It’s just the Musketeers and Rachel,” Puck answers her. “Brittany’s been looking for you, Lopez. She’s almost frantic.”_

_“Is she okay?” Santana’s voice is quieter._

_“Severely slushied, much like the rest of us,” Rachel replies. “And worried about you.”_

_“I’m going to pull his _dick_ off–and don’t get me started on how nasty that is–and then I’m going to light it on fire. Once it’s burning happily, I can use it to start the fro burning.”_

“Want us to film that?” Finn suggests, keeping his voice pitched low. “You could send it of to your college of choice.”

“Let’s send it to the colleges of _his_ choice, instead,” Santana answers, and there are slow footsteps approaching at last. Puck notices that the locker room is pretty trashed, and he wonders just how many Spanish swear words echoed off the walls. “Where’s Britt?”

“She’s in Coach Sylvester’s office,” Kurt says calmly. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

Santana appears around a bank of lockers then, and it takes everything he has not to swear at the sight of her. As covered in slushie as Brittany was, Santana looks worse. She looks as if the entire hockey team slushied just her, and that’s technically relatively likely. Some of her hair looks literally frozen, probably from her trek over to the stadium. When she sees them, her eyes flicker between all four of them, and she takes half a step towards Puck and Kurt before she falters. “I–” she starts, then falls silent again.

Puck steps towards her, Kurt beside him, and they hand her towels before pulling her in between them. “I promise we’ll help you rinse off the nasty boy germs later,” Kurt whispers, and Santana laughs brokenly.

“Why?” Santana whispers. “What right did he have?”

“He didn’t,” Puck says roughly. “And neither did whoever he overheard.”

“We should head back,” Rachel says quietly, and Puck nods his agreement. He and Kurt pull away from Santana, both of them leaving an arm around her, and they walk out the door, Finn walking silently behind them with his arms crossed menacingly across his chest. Luckily, there’s no one outside or in the halls as they slowly make their way towards Sylvester’s office.

There’s a low buzz of conversation spilling into the hallway through the closed door, and the three of them stop outside it. Finn pushes the door open and holds it for everyone else to traipse through, scanning up and down the hallway with a grim look on his face. “Brittany?” Kurt says lightly. “Look who we found.”

“‘Tana!” Brittany squeals, flinging herself at Santana without regard for the stickiness of her hair or face. “I looked everywhere for you! I thought you’d gone away forever and I was so _sad_.” Tears well up in Brittany’s eyes. “Never disappear forever again.”

Santana leans into Brittany and nods. “Okay, Britt-Britt,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so colorful now,” Brittany says.

“Yeah,” Santana agrees, laughing a little. “The hockey team seemed to think it was a good idea.” She frowns and looks around the room. “Why _all_ of you?”

“Once they got away with one or two of us, I think it just spread,” Kurt says, shrugging slightly. He looks down as his phone chimes, and reads it, then smirks. “Satan, your beard wants to know if you’re all right.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Yeah, tell him I’m just celebrating Pride a few months early.”

“You think they slushied him too?” Mike asks with a frown.

“Depends on how bold they are,” Kurt shrugs.

Puck’s phone buzzes then, and he checks the message. “Artie says Schue said to meet this afternoon instead of now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Finn says. “This is more important, obviously.”

“I think we should all vacate the premises for lunch,” Kurt announces. “And now, before class ends.”

“This is why you’re the smart one, dude,” Finn agrees. “We want to hit someone’s house and shower, or just find food?”

“We’re closest, after Puck, and we’ve got three showers.” Kurt shrugs. “If we call now, pizza can probably get there as we all finish.”

“Sounds like a plan. Same order as during rehearsals, right?” Finn’s already pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts for the number. He steps over to the side wall and starts rattling off the familiar order.

Puck sends a text to Artie to inform him of the plans, and then the ten of them slowly leave Sylvester’s office in a clump. There’s an audible sigh of relief when they reach the doors and step into the pale winter sunshine.

“Hell of a start to the week,” Sam mutters, and their heads all shake in agreement.

 

For all of Puck’s joking, it’s really Kurt who’s some kind of ninja. He organizes the showers, towels, and the order of the showers in a matter of minutes, and the result is that everyone else is downstairs waiting on the pizza before Kurt or Puck are in the shower.

“Oh, how convenient.” Kurt smirks at Puck. “We can be ecologically conscious.”

“Nice, blue eyes.” They have to be fast, but that doesn’t stop Puck from pulling Kurt to him as soon as the bathroom door closes. For a long minute they just hold each other, Kurt’s arms wrapped just as tightly around Puck as Puck’s are around Kurt. Puck shifts his head and brushes his lips against Kurt’s. Kurt opens his mouth, running his tongue along Puck’s lips, and Puck lets him deepen the kiss, thrusting their tongues against one another. They pull apart long before Puck’s ready for them to do so, and Kurt starts the shower again with a sigh.

“We’re not going to our one o’clock classes,” Kurt murmurs, and Puck just nods. No one’s really going to miss him in math, except maybe Mike, and Kurt’s told him how big his psych class is.

When they head downstairs finally, the pizza is on the kitchen table, along with a stack of paper plates. Finn looks over from the cabinet, where he’s pulling down cups for everyone, and sort of startles when he sees Puck.

“Uh, that sweater,” Finn says.

“Did you see the back of my shirt, dude?”

Finn shakes his head. “Bad, huh?”

“Yeah.” Puck shrugs. “I think this week is gonna be the week to wear stuff we want to toss out.”

“Just, I mean...” Finn trails off, looking worried. “It _looks_ like Kurt’s sweater. And you guys kinda took your time up there. I just...” He looks in the direction of the living room. “We don’t know who said something and, I dunno, man. I worry.”

“It’s from Old Navy. Kurt would never admit to buying anything there,” Puck points out. “And I know, but I really don’t have anything else to wear. Unless you’re volunteering.”

“You can snag something of mine if you want it,” Finn shrugs. “Totally up to you. It’ll be kinda big on you, but that’s kinda small, so whatever you want, Goldilocks.”

Kurt walks into the kitchen on the tail end of the conversation and grins at both of them. “I don’t know, I thought it was just right.”

“Whatever, baby bear,” Finn snorts. “You want to send everyone in for pizza?”

“Sure.” Kurt smiles sweetly, then pivots in place and yells into the living room. “PIZZA EVERYONE.”

“I could have done that,” Finn points out.

“So you could have,” Kurt agrees as the rest of the club streams into the kitchen.

“About time,” Artie says. “I’m starving!”

“This is much better than having lunch at school,” Rachel agrees, grabbing a slice of the vegan pizza. “Quinn, Tina, did you want a slice of this one?”

“Thanks, I’ll have some,” Quinn says, holding out her plate. Rachel smiles and puts a slice on Quinn’s plate, then does the same when Tina holds out hers as well.

There’s a general scramble for slices and within minutes, almost all the boxes are empty. “We should do this more often,” Puck remarks, even if he does wince a little at how much they each had to pay.

“Without the slushies first, please,” Finn adds, then looks stricken. “Oh, crap! We have to go back to school!”

“We’ll toss all this out,” Kurt assures him. “We have longer before we have to be over on campus.”

“Cool, Kurt, thanks,” Finn says. “You guys are ok?” he asks, dropping his voice low enough for only Puck and Kurt to hear.

Puck shrugs and nods once, and Kurt just tilts his head back and forth for a moment. The sad thing, in Puck’s opinion, was that the morning wasn’t good, but none of it felt surprising. “One hundred thirty-three,” Kurt says after a minute.

“Huh?” Finn looks confused. “The pizza didn’t cost anywhere near that much.”

“Days,” Puck says shortly. “Until graduation.”

“Oh,” Finn answers, softly. “Yeah, that.”

“Not that we’re counting.”

 

“I’m going to buy you some sweaters that are almost too small,” Kurt announces as the door closes behind Mike and Tina.

“Uh, okay?”

Kurt pauses for a moment until he hears something–probably Mike and Tina driving away, though Puck can’t hear a thing–and then nods, pressing himself against Puck. “So I can pull them off you.”

“Oh.” Puck nods. “I’m good with that, then.”

“Thought you would be.” Kurt’s almost catlike, his body against Puck’s. “I want you to take me upstairs and slide inside me.” He puts his hand in Puck’s and starts walking backwards, pulling Puck with him. “No, I _need_ you to do that.”

“Yeah.” Puck nods and follows Kurt up the stairs. “Come on, beautiful,” he adds, switching places with Kurt while they’re on the landing. He squeezes Kurt’s hand and they leave the bedroom door open for once. He think he understands; they both need it. He wouldn’t be surprised if Brittany and Santana were anywhere but McKinley.

Kurt pulls off his clothes quickly, and Puck does the same, both of them lying on the bed when they finish. Puck cups Kurt’s jaw in his hand, kissing him slowly and softly. Kurt’s skin is warm, and Puck pulls the covers over them with his other hand. Puck mentally curses the rest of the world; they need more than the hour they’re stealing. “I need you,” Kurt repeats, his voice soft and pleading, and Puck kisses him again, harder.

“I know, K,” Puck tries to reassure him. “Need you too, so much.” He leans over Kurt, grabbing the lube out of the drawer and pouring it onto his fingers. He pushes two fingers into Kurt, almost abruptly, and slowly works his fingers until Kurt stiffens and his breath hitches. “Right there, blue eyes?”

“Mmmhmm,” Kurt agrees, nodding almost frantically. “Oh god please, Puck. Just. Please, now.”

“You sure?” Puck frowns, moving his fingers a little more rapidly.

“Yes, yes.” Kurt pushes himself down onto Puck’s fingers, biting his lip. “Please, baby.”

“Okay,” Puck nods, coating himself quickly, then moving to kneel between Kurt’s legs. Kurt folds his legs up and Puck leans down, pressing fierce, hard kisses to Kurt’s mouth and then his neck as he nudges against Kurt’s entrance. There are going to be marks, angry red hickeys against Kurt’s pale skin, and a very small part of Puck wishes Kurt didn’t have to cover them, that he could walk back into McKinley with them on display, defiant.

Kurt rocks his hips upward as Puck starts to push inside, and Puck can feel Kurt’s muscles slowly relaxing, allowing him access. He changes his angle slightly, brushing against Kurt’s prostate, and Kurt sighs a little. “So good, baby.”

“Tight for me,” Puck pants, holding himself still as he finally feels his balls against Kurt’s ass. “Kurt. Fuck. Beautiful, Kurt.” He pulls out exquisitely slowly, then slides back in, staring down at Kurt and his flushed face. Kurt’s eyes are closed, his lashes dark against his pale skin, and his hands are flung artlessly over his head as his body arches toward Puck. Puck closes his hand around Kurt’s cock, stroking it rhythmically as he speeds up his thrusts.

“Love this, love your cock, fuck,” Kurt babbles, his body moving with the pattern Puck’s set, and then he tightens around Puck. Puck responds by driving into Kurt a little harder and squeezing a little bit with his hand.

“Come for me, blue eyes. Look at me, come for me.”

Kurt’s eyes flutter open, and Puck can feel the corners of his mouth turn up as their eyes lock. With a final thrust, Puck empties into Kurt, and Kurt follows the rest of Puck’s instructions within seconds, bucking upward as he comes, fluid spilling onto Puck’s hand. Puck wipes his hand on the sheet, even though Kurt makes a little face, and pulls out almost immediately.

“Turn over,” he says, and Kurt does so, looking at him curiously. Puck runs his hand over Kurt’s back and then slowly follows the path of his hand with his mouth. When he reaches Kurt’s ass, there’s fluid slowly seeping from Kurt’s entrance, and Puck runs his tongue over it, cleaning Kurt off. Kurt whimpers slightly and Puck repeats the action, then pushes his tongue inside Kurt, slowly but thoroughly cleaning Kurt, inside and out. Puck tunes almost everything out, focusing on the taste and smell of Kurt, and the small noises he’s making in response, and when Kurt’s body shudders underneath him, it takes Puck a moment to realize that Kurt just came a second time. He pulls back slowly. “Oh,” he breathes.

“C’mere,” Kurt says, almost sleepily. “You’re so amazing.”

Puck slides back up to lie beside Kurt, taking Kurt into his arms. “Mmm. You too.”

“What do you want, baby?”

“I’m good,” Puck insists. It’s both true–he’s good for the moment–and untrue; there simply isn’t enough time for all the things he wants. He tightens his hold on Kurt. “We have to go soon.”

“I won’t be at glee this afternoon. I still have to work.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to move.”

“I know.”

“I hate this town.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “Me too.”

 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Kurt sighs, pulling up outside McKinley. “The amazing world of wheel realignment awaits.”

Puck snorts. “Have fun with that. Meanwhile, we’ll see what the rest of the club thinks is an unlikely song for a show choir.”

“Take notes,” Kurt says dryly.

“Right.” Puck climbs out of the Nav and swings his backpack over one shoulder, walking back into the halls of McKinley. The final bell hasn’t rung, so he walks quickly to the choir room, unsurprised to see Mike and Tina already in there.

“Where’s Kurt?” Tina frowns. “Didn’t he give you a ride back?”

“Work,” Puck answers. “He works Monday afternoons.”

“Oh.” Tina nods. “I guess that’s true!”

The bell rings at the end of her statement, punctuating it, and Sam and Mercedes arrive almost immediately afterwards. Quinn and Artie arrive at the same time from opposite directions, and then Finn and Rachel appear. Puck’s not exactly surprised that Brittany and Santana aren’t there, but after another two or three minutes, two figures in jeans and hoodies scurry in, tossing off the sweatshirts. Puck grins to himself; no, they definitely weren’t in class all afternoon. They look far too relaxed compared to when they left the Hudmel house.

Mr. Schue enters the room just after them, scanning the room with a genuinely concerned look on his face. “Everyone all right? I know that the hallways have been pretty awful today.” He frowns. “I have a meeting with Figgins before school tomorrow to discuss what the faculty can do, in fact; Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Beiste are going to be there as well. We’re going to make sure Principal Figgins takes some action, but please, guys. Be careful.” He sighs and then looks around the room again. “Wait, where’s Kurt?”

“Wielding a tire iron.” Puck is careful to keep his expression calm and a little dumb.

“What?” Schue looks alarmed.

“He’s _working_ ,” Finn explains, giving Puck a look. “He’s not out enacting vigilante justice.”

“He’s totally Batman,” Puck says, shaking his head.

“Those shorts,” Finn mutters. “Those _shorts_.”

Puck grins, even if Finn is avoiding looking directly at him.

“Oh, okay,” Schue says, looking immensely relieved. Maybe he thought that Kurt would come after him with a tire iron, which is a pretty amusing thought. “So your assignment for this week was unlikely songs for a show choir. Who’d like to present theirs first?”

Brittany raises her hand. “I’ll go first today,” she says. “I’m singing ‘Stand By Your Man.’ Puck, will you be my bat-guitar?”

“Sure,” Puck nods, picking up his guitar and standing to the side. “Original?” Brittany nods, and Puck starts to play, Brittany positioning herself into what is probably intended to be a soulful pose.

_Sometimes it's hard to be a woman  
Giving all your love to just one man  
You'll have bad times  
And he'll have good times  
Doing things that you don't understand  
But if you love him  
You'll forgive him  
Even though he's hard to understand  
And if you love him  
Oh, be proud of him  
Cause after all he's just a man_

Despite the words of the song, Brittany is obviously directing her serenade to Santana. Santana is shaking her head, clearly trying not to laugh, and Puck is pretty sure that this performance is all kinds of ironic.

_Stand by your man  
And show the world you love him  
Keep giving all the love you can  
Stand by your man_

When Brittany finishes, she performs a dramatic, sweeping curtsy. “And that’s how _I_ roll,” she says, taking her seat. Puck takes his seat as well, propping his guitar in the empty chairs to his right.

“You’re right, Brittany, we definitely don’t do that much country in show choir,” Schue says, nodding. “I’m not sure that we could adapt that song for all twelve of you to sing, but it is a real classic.”

“Yes, it is classic,” Brittany agrees, looking proud of herself.

“Can I go ahead?” Tina asks. “I thought of a possibility.” When Schue turns to walk to the side of the room after nodding, Tina winks at all of them. She whispers something to the jazz band and then bursts out as the music starts.

_She's got a smile that it seems to me  
Reminds me of childhood memories  
Where everything  
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky  
Now and then when I see her face  
she takes me away to that special place  
And if I stare too long  
I'd probably break down and cry_

Puck presses the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling the laughter that wants to escape. A quick glance around the room shows that he’s not the only one; Finn isn’t even trying to muffle his laughter. Tina does a really good job with the song, actually, and Schue himself is grinning.

_woah oh oh oh  
Sweet child o' mine  
woah oh oh  
Sweet love of mine_

Tina takes a little bow at the end of the song as they all clap. “Fantastic, Tina,” Schue says enthusiastically. “I guess we did learn that some Guns ‘n’ Roses songs are a little long for a competition.”

“Mr. Schue?” Artie raises his hand. “I’d like to go next, if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing,” Schue nods. “Let’s hear what you have for us!”

“Well, as all of you may recall from Invitationals, we determined that’s it’s never a good idea to perform a song with a Weird Al parody,” Artie begins, handing a scrap of paper to Brad at the piano. “So I thought that one way to get around that would be to just cut out the middle man and go straight to Al himself.”

As Brad begins to play, Artie starts crooning “Jurassic Park.”

_I recall the time they found those fossilized mosquitoes  
And before long, they were cloning DNA  
Now I'm being chased by some irate velociraptors  
Well, believe me... this has been one lousy day_

_Jurassic Park is frightening in the dark  
All the dinosaurs are running wild  
Someone shut the fence off in the rain  
I admit it's kinda eerie  
But this proves my chaos theory  
And I don't think I'll be coming back again  
Oh no_

All Puck can think is that this is like comedy hour; Kurt could have used the comedic relief, too, but Puck didn’t think about recording any of it until it was too late.

_What a crummy weekend this has been  
Well, this sure ain't no E-ticket  
Think I'll tell them where to stick it  
'Cause I'm never coming back this way again  
Oh no... oh no_

Artie caps off the song with some fancy turns of his chair, to a round of enthusiastic applause. “That was great,” Mr. Schue laughs. “Wow, guys, you are all being really creative here.” He looks at the clock. “Let’s do one more, if anyone’s ready?”

“I have something,” Mike volunteers, standing up. “It’s by an Icelandic band.”

“Snowmen or elves?” Brittany asks.

Mike pauses before he gets to the front of the room. “Probably elves,” he says after a minute. Brittany nods. “So this is Sigur Ros. Their um, only song in English.” He grins and nods at Brad, who apparently already had the music.

_I want him to know  
What I have done  
I want him to know  
It's bad_

The song is soft and slow, and Mike is almost cooing.

_You...  
You are still next to me, alright_

“That was beautiful,” Schue says when the quiet applause has ended. “Thank you, all of you. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon but please, let myself or another faculty member know if anything like today happens again.”

“I think my fist is gonna let somebody know if something like today happens again,” Finn grumbles.

“Did you say something, Finn?” Schue says, smiling slightly, and he walks towards the door. “Go home and relax, guys.” He waves over his shoulder as he exits.

Finn grins. “Dude, Schue is a badass today.”

“Hey. I’m the badass.” Puck frowns and points to his neck.

“Oh, you are!” Brittany exclaims, coming over to look at his necklace. “You have a label and everything!”

“Seriously?” Sam grins. “That’s awesome, dude.”

“Did you buy that for yourself?” Quinn snorts. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did not.” Puck raises one eyebrow. “It was a gift. Hanukkah.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I can totally see your mom springing for _that_.”

“I never said it was my mom.” Puck rolls his own eyes and grabs his guitar, standing up. “I know it’s hard to comprehend the idea that someone else might enjoy my company enough to give me gifts.”

“It really is,” Quinn mutters, picking up her bag and rifling through it for something.

“Clearly it was someone who wanted to keep you on a short leash,” Santana says, smirking, and Puck shakes his head.

“Oh, Satan. You should know better than that.” He smirks a little in response and they stare at each other for a minute before bursting into laughter.

Finn looks back and forth between Santana and Puck a few times. “You two are weird.”

“You pretty much always think I’m weird,” Puck retorts. “Can I get a ride, dude?”

“Sure, man,” Finn says. “Hell of a day.”

Puck sighs and picks up his backpack and his guitar. “Yeah.” They walk into the hall ahead of most of the others. “Can’t say that I think tomorrow’s going to be much better.”

“This sucks,” Finn grumbles as they walk out to his truck. “There’s no part of this that doesn’t suck.”

“Yeah. This is the first time I wish Jewfro actually went to the same synagogue. Between Rachel and I we could get him in major Jew hot water, you know?”

“I’d pay to see that,” Finn says, shaking his head. “You know they even got _Casey_ today? I saw him out in the parking lot with Karofsky. He was a mess.”

“Fuckers.” Puck shakes his head. “Those idiots don’t learn, do they?” He sighs. “Did they get Karofsky, too?”

“He looked clean-ish when I saw him, but he was going on about it being a free-for-all, so my guess is yes.”

“Think we could pay the Speedways to disconnect their machines for a week?” Puck throws his stuff into the back of the truck. “I mean, it’s great Schue seems to be finally waking up and all, but I don’t know that even three of them can make a difference with Figgins.”

“Figgins is clueless,” Finn snorts. “I don’t know what the solution is here, man. This just _sucks_.”

“Yeah.” Puck climbs into the passenger seat and lets his head rest against the window. “I’m thinking Kurt had the right idea on Halloween. You think Wal-Mart has a sale on fishing waders?”

“I don’t know if they come in my size,” Finn says. “I mean, I have kinda big feet.”

“We’ll get you an extra-long slicker then,” Puck responds dryly. “Or maybe we should move as a clump with umbrellas. Like those ancient dudes did with shields. Who was that?”

“Uh, I think that’s from _300_ , dude.”

“Did I see that?”

“I saw that,” Finn shrugs. “That usually means you saw it. Didn’t we rent it that one time over the summer? Kurt threw some kind of snit about something and didn’t watch it with us.”

“Nah, that was _Kingdom of Heaven_ ; we watched something the week he was gone to Wisconsin, maybe that was _300_.”

“I thought he went to Michigan,” Finn says.

Puck laughs. “Yeah, you thought that then, too. But Aunt Mildred and company apparently live somewhere between Eau Claire and La Crosse. Wherever _those_ are.”

“Sounds like types of food.”

“Hey, maybe they have cheese.”

“Eclairs, that’s what it makes me think of,” Finn says. “I like those.”

“Not enough chocolate,” Puck shakes his head.

“Yeah, but cream filled.”

Puck turns to Finn and raises his eyebrows. “Really, dude?”

“What, you got a problem with cream filled?” Finn asks, studiously _not_ looking in Puck’s direction and obviously fighting a grin.

“I bet you don’t really want me to answer that question.”

“Dude, I’m desensitized now,” Finn says. “Like when kids play too many violent video games.”

“Really?” Puck purses his lips and nods slowly. “So you’re all right if I tell you about the various things that I can appreciate as, ah, _cream filled_?”

Finn blushes a little, but he stoically answers, “Well, I mean, I’m not bothered by it, but Kurt might be upset if we talk about that.”

Puck laughs. “He might be if, I don’t know, we were talking about it in front of Burt or something.” He pauses and bites his lower lip, smirking. “But yeah, your brother’s cock? Awesome.”

“Oh my _god_ , ok! I take it back! Not desensitized! Christ!” Finn makes a horrible face. “Let us never speak of this again.”

“Your call, dude.” Puck shrugs as Finn pulls into a parking spot near the building. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear the answer, and then you didn’t even let me finish it.” He shakes his head. “Thanks for the lift.”

“No problem,” Finn says. “I’m just heading home now to bleach my brain.”

“Have fun with that.” Puck grabs his stuff out of the back and reaches for the door to shut it. “I’ll make sure to tell Kurt to stop by tonight and tell you about _his_ favorite dessert.” He grins wickedly and closes the door as he finishes the sentence, walking towards the sidewalk. He can hear Finn shouting, “DUDE! UNCOOL!” even as he walks into the lobby and heads for the stairs.

 

Kurt spends half an hour rummaging through Puck’s closet that night, point out clothes that are likely to stain and those that are likely to repel even the worst of rainbow attacks. When they arrive at school the next morning, the members of the glee club are all dressed similarly: cotton shirts in shades of white, black, and grey, mostly with jeans that have seen better days. Puck doesn’t know about the rest of them, but he has extra clothes in his locker and another set in the Nav. Kurt tried to laugh it off, saying that surely their gaydar isn’t that good, but Puck knows it doesn’t have to be. He was off-and-on with Santana for over a year; he’s good friends with Brittany; Kurt is, to outward appearances, his best friend.

The twelve of them mostly travel in pairs and groups, but it doesn’t matter; when they convene during fourth period, few of them are wearing the same outfit that they started out the day in. Puck doesn’t take any satisfaction in being right; the cat-call of ‘guess you weren’t woman enough for Lopez!’ was as unoriginal as the green slushie than followed it.

Whatever the outcome of Schue’s convened meeting, it clearly isn’t enough.

The only good thing about Tuesday is after school, when he and Kurt crawl into Kurt’s bed and forget the rest of Lima for an hour or so; hands and mouths on each other, and Puck’s never met Danny’s girlfriend, but he sort of wishes she didn’t want any kind of engagement ring at all.

On Wednesday, though, half of them are still in their original attire by fourth period; Puck isn’t one of them, and neither is Kurt, but Puck likes to think he’s not so jaded that he’s bitter instead of happy for them. Of course, the thought is ruined quickly, when Puck finds himself thinking that they probably have secrets and kinks and stuff that would get them slushied, if only people realized it easily. Nope, he’s definitely a little bitter, and he finds it admirable that Kurt’s not more bitter than he is, given everything.

Work drags on Wednesday evening, and even though he’s relieved to drive home, part of him wishes he weren’t opening the next day, because breakfast with Kurt sounds like a better deal.

 

When Kurt looks into Finn’s room, he finds Finn in the midst of some kind of dance routine, or a theoretical dance routine, at least, as there’s no music playing and Finn’s movements don’t seem to have an obvious purpose. Something about the dance looks oddly familiar, but when Finn spins around and sees Kurt, he immediately freezes.

“Uhh...hey, Kurt.”

“Hello, Finn,” Kurt replies, trying not to sound too amused. “Practicing something?”

“Nothing!” Finn looks almost guilty for some reason. “Uh, you’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.”

Kurt shrugs. “Slow at the shop. Dad and I grabbed a hot dog at Joey’s but I may go downstairs later and get some.” He pauses, smirking slightly. “Dessert.”

Finn just looks at Kurt oddly. “Uh, ok.”

“I heard you liked, what was it? Cream-filled things?”

“No, that’s Puck,” Finn answers, almost automatically, and then his face goes beet red and he clamps his hand over his mouth. “Ohhhh _shit_. He told you about that.”

Kurt laughs. “Did you think he wouldn’t?”

Finn nods. “Well, yeah.”

“Why?” Kurt looks at him, puzzled.

“I dunno,” Finn shrugs. “Thought you might be embarrassed or something. Or pissed.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and purses his lips together slightly, walking a few steps further into the room. “Not entirely sure why I would be either of those, but all right.”

“I dunno,” Finn says again. “I can’t ever tell.”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” Kurt says after a long moment. “If Rachel and I had a conversation about _you_ , in which she was complimentary about you, would you be pissed?”

“I guess it depends on what you two were talking about,” Finn says. “I mean, I’m sure there’s some stuff I probably don’t want you to know.”

“Fine. A _short_ conversation.”

“Uh, I guess it’d be fine?”

Kurt nods, point proven as much as possible, anyway. “Anyway, no. I was neither pissed nor embarrassed.”

“Well, ok, that’s good then,” Finn shrugs. “Did you need something? I was, um, practicing something.”

“Oh, I thought it was ‘nothing,’” Kurt grins.

“It’s nothing for you to know,” Finn retorts. “Maybe you can find out later.”

“How will I survive the suspense!”

“Heavy drinking?” Finn suggests. “Take up smoking?”

Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Eww.”

“Oh! I know! You could do yoga.” Finn seems excited about the prospect of Kurt taking up yoga.

“I have, in fact, done yoga in the past,” Kurt responds, holding back a laugh. “But I’m not sure why the idea has you thrilled.”

“Well, just imagine how cool it would be if we could put you in, I dunno, like a treasure chest or something, and roll it out at Nationals, and then all of a sudden you pop out singing, like ta-da!” Finn explains, spreading out his arms and hopping when he says ‘ta-da.’ “It would be an awesome surprise and everybody would be impressed.”

“I am _not_ jumping out of something like a stripper jumps out of a cake!”

“Ooh, a cake would be even awesomer!”

“No. No, it would not be. I’ll sue you if you try to make me do that.”

“You can’t sue me. I’m your _brother_ , dude, and anyway, there’s no laws about not having your brother jump out of cake and sing at Nationals, so, just,” Finn shakes his head. “Chillax or whatever.”

“Public humiliation, Finn. I can definitely sue my brother for public humiliation.”

“Please,” Finn snorts. “If people could sue other people for making them look like dumbasses, I’d have sued Puck, like, five times by now.”

“You didn’t need Puck for that,” Kurt retorts, smirking.

Finn makes a face at Kurt. “Just for that, I’m totally suggesting the cake thing to Schue.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure Dad would like to visit McKinley again.”

Finn sticks out his tongue.

Kurt grins. “Or we could go back to talking about co–”

“DUDE!” Finn interjects. “Uncool, Kurt. Come on. You want me to start talking about Rachel’s–”

“You already do!” Kurt interrupts him. “‘Front boob, Kurt!’”

“Oh, I don’t _even_ mean boobs, dude,” Finn smirks. “I can be talking girl parts ALL UP IN THIS JOINT!”

“At least you _have_ a cock!” Kurt blurts out. “It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with the equipment!”

“Oh my _God_ , Kurt, will you stop saying _that word_!”

“Do you prefer ‘dick’?”

“Why do you hate me?!” Finn screeches, flinging himself onto his bed and covering his head with a pillow. “No more dick talk!” he yells, though it’s muffled by the pillow on his head.

“If you insist.” Kurt sighs dramatically. “I’m going to go lie on my _bed_ and wait for _Puck_ to call and maybe he’ll talk to me about _cock_.”

“Oh my _gawd_ ,” Finn groans. “Go!”

“If you’re sure!” Kurt giggles madly as he steps backward out the door. “You don’t want me to stay so we can have some brotherly bonding?”

“Duuuuude,” Finn wails. “This isn’t bonding. It’s torture. Oversharing torturing torture of oversharing.”

“Overshare? I haven’t shared anything yet!”

“Oh, you shared, dude,” Finn says, pulling the pillow off his head and glaring at Kurt accusingly. “You _shared_.”

“What did Kurt share?” Carole’s voice floats from behind Kurt, and he jumps.

“Oh my _gawd_ ,” Finn groans again. “Let _him_ explain!”

“He didn’t want to participate in a nice session of brotherly bonding and camaraderie,” Kurt says sadly. “Finn just doesn’t see us having an exchange of information.”

“Oh, just tell her what kind of information,” Finn hollers. “That’s not bonding. That’s...just...it’s just....gah!”

Carole looks at Finn, confused, and then at Kurt. “Kurt?”

He shrugs. “There may have been words that Finn didn’t want to hear involved. I was just trying to continue a conversation that Finn had begun with Puck on Monday afternoon.”

“Duuuude!”

“Ahhh,” Carole bites down on her lower lip, almost as if she’s trying not to smile. “Well, Finn, sweetie, I don’t know what to tell you. Either of you. Maybe each of you could concede a little.”

“Or we can call it mutually assured destruction and neither one of us can speak of that topic with each other again,” Finn suggests. “Because I don’t think either of us really wants to know.”

“I think ultimately you’d be more bothered than I,” Kurt smirks slightly. “But if you’re sure...”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’m completely sure.”

“Your loss.”

“You say tomato, I say, dude, definitely not my loss.”

 

Puck pushes his thumb against the screen as soon as he closes his bedroom door and crawls onto his bed. It only rings once before Kurt picks up. “Hi there!”

“You sound...” Puck pauses. “I was going to say happy, but.”

Kurt giggles. “I was bothering Finn about the conversation the two of you had. I told him I was going to wait in here for you to call me, that maybe _you’d_ talk to me about cock.”

Puck catches his breath. “ _Oh_.” He stands back up and locks the door, letting his pants drop to the ground. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.” Puck discards his shirt and lies back down. “What are you wearing, beautiful?”

“Nothing,” Kurt admits. “I’ve been lying under the covers waiting for you to call. What about you?”

“Naked as the day I was born,” Puck confirms. “Are you hard? Are you touching your cock, blue eyes?”

“Yes.” Puck waits for more. “Yes, I am. Thinking about your mouth.”

“Yeah?” Puck grins. “I like your cock in my mouth, Kurt. You’re big and hard and you taste so damn good,” he adds, dropping his voice. “I just love the way you taste.”

“Oh, god, Puck,” is Kurt’s only response for a moment. “Tell me–tell me more.”

“Put a little lube on your hand,” Puck instructs. “And then I want you to stroke yourself, up and down, steady.”

“Okay.” Puck can hear Kurt moving around, and he can tell the moment that he starts stroking. “Ohh, baby. Are–are you touching yourself, too?”

“Yeah,” Puck grunts, his wrist flexing as he moves his palm and fingers quickly over his own cock. “Thinking about you and your hands and your mouth and...” He stops mid-litany. “Fuck, K. Wish you were in my mouth right now, wish your hands were on me.”

“Me too.” Kurt’s admission is almost a moan. “Love the way your mouth feels around me. So warm and wet, baby.”

Puck groans. “Dammit, blue eyes.” He tightens his grip and curls his fingers around the phone hard. “Want to taste you spilling down my throat.”

“Oh yes.” Kurt’s voice is high and raspy. “I want that, too, baby. Speed your hand up on your cock, okay?”

“Okay.” Puck complies. “Fuck, K. So close.”

“Yes.”

“Come for me, blue eyes.” Puck closes his eyes and listens to Kurt, the quiet gasp and hum, and then another sound that Puck can’t quite name, but he knows what it means, and his own orgasm is triggered.

“You still there?” Kurt murmurs after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Puck responds. “Sticky, though.”

Kurt giggles. “Me too.”

“Wish I could clean you up,” Puck admits. “Then I wish you could fuck me.”

“Me too.” Kurt sighs. “Friday afternoon?”

“Friday afternoon.”

 

By the time glee rehearsal starts on Thursday afternoon, Puck is cautiously pleased. Three attempted slushies on glee club members–and none of them successful–is better than he thought things would be on Thursday.

“All right!” Schue tries to get them all quiet. “Who’d like to go first today?”

Finn’s hand shoots up. “Oh! Mr. Schue, I’ve been working on a special performance!”

“Oh, all right.” Schue nods. “Let’s hear it!”

Finn starts rifling through his backpack and pulls out a wadded-up bundle of fabric. As he walks up to the front of the room, he start sliding a coat on over his shirt, and Puck realizes it’s Kurt’s old Dalton blazer. It’s about four or five inches too short in each arm and doesn’t come close to fastening across the chest, but Finn manages to cram himself into it anyway.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to my big brother,” Finn says.

“Oh, dear god,” Kurt mutters, shaking his head.

Finn begins singing some amalgamation of “Teenage Dream” and “Raise Your Glass,” mostly to the tune of the latter, with lines from “Teenage Dream” worked in to various places, so the end result is a bunch of lines like, “Every February, you’ll be my dirty little little freaks” before Finn launches into the chorus.

_Party crasher, panty snatcher,  
Let’s go all the way tonight!  
Don’t be fancy, just get dancey,  
No regrets, just love!_

Finn also does a little dance that seems to be a valiant effort at copying Warbler choreography, ending with a fist pump in the air and a slide of his hands down his hips.

_So raise your glass  
To get in my skintight jeans  
Be my teenage freak tonight!_

Finn finishes with a dramatic drop to his knee and his arms above his head like an Olympic gymnast.

The rest of the club is howling, many of them bent over double with laughter, and Puck’s pretty sure at least a few of them are crying, they’re laughing so hard. The utter ridiculous of Finn singing Katy Perry _or_ Pink would have been enough, without the added meaning, the mash-up, the choreography, or the jacket.

“I have to pee!” Tina cries, which only makes everyone else laugh harder.

Finn keeps a remarkably straight face through the whole thing. “What? That wasn’t dapper enough for you?”

Puck straightens long enough to exchange a glance with Kurt, and they leap up, grabbing Finn’s arms and pulling him towards a patch of floor with sunlight illuminating it. “Stand there!”

“Oh God, it buuuurrrrrnnns!” Finn wails. “Heh, just kidding guys. Lemme up!”

Tina’s laughter gets even louder, and then she bolts from the room in a clatter of feet. Everyone is almost calm when she comes back and announces “I peed!” in a loud voice.

“Congratulations!” Brittany says with a smile.

“Thank you!” Tina takes her seat with another giggle as everyone’s laughter is renewed.

“Well, Finn,” Schue tries to talk over the remaining laughter. “That was certainly unique.” He’s clearly fighting back his own chuckles. “Also a good reminder to us all to make sure our costumes fit.” He lets a little laugh escape before he calms his expression. “Well, great. Who’s next?”

“Well, let’s call it a theme,” Santana says, smirking. She strides to the front of the room. “So this is another little ditty by Colbie Caillat.” She laughs for a second. “It’s not quite so creepy and stalkerish, though.”

“Good to know,” Schue says, but his face looks puzzled.

Santana smiles at Brad, who begins to play, and then she starts to sing.

_It's always been about me, myself, and I  
I thought relationships were nothing but a waste of time  
I never wanted to be anybody's other half  
I was happy saying I had a love that wouldn't last  
That was the only way I knew 'til I met you_

_You make me wanna say  
I do, I do, I do, do do do do do do doo  
Yeah, I do, I do, I do, do do do do do do doo  
Cause every time before it's been like  
Maybe yes and maybe no  
I can't live without it, I can't let it go  
Ooh what did I get myself into?  
You make me wanna say I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do_

The song is too sweet, and it’s not like Puck doesn’t watch rom-coms and shit. Too sweet means way too sweet. Still, Santana is almost mocking it, and it’s too easy to imagine the Warblers doing the song, for sure.

“Well, that was a very sweet song,” Schue says at the end. “Not at all creepy. But you are definitely right, Santana, I’m not sure that artist is appropriate for show choir competition.”

“I’ll go next,” Sam offers, standing up and clutching his own guitar. “This is Five for Fighting’s ‘America Town.’”

_I know I should be happy in your land  
It's not all that wild to me  
Not that I want to be any other where  
I know its hell out there _

_Here in the borders of America Town  
All of the dollies are spinning round and round and round  
Hail to the chief  
Lets just drag them all down  
There's got to be a hero somewhere_

“That’s actually a great song,” Schue says with a smile. “I don’t know how we could all perform it, though, that’s true.” He nods once. “All right, one more performance?”

“I’d like to go,” Kurt says smoothly, rising to his feet. “This is, technically, a good song for a show choir, since it’s from a musical, but I think you’ll all understand why I chose it for this assignment.” He crosses the room and makes sure both doors are closed, then winks in Puck and Rachel’s direction. “It’s from the musical _Spring Awakening_.”

_There’s a moment you know…  
Not an inch more room to self-destruct  
No more moves  
– oh yeah, the dead-end zone  
Man, you just can’t call your soul your own_

Puck’s pretty sure he left out a couple of words in the first line, but it’ll make it stronger later.

_Man, you’re fucked if you just freeze up  
Can’t do that thing – that keeping still  
But, you’re fucked if you speak your mind  
And you know – uh huh – you will_

_Yeah, you’re fucked all right – and all for spite  
You can kiss your sorry ass goodbye  
Totally fucked – will they mess you up?  
Well you know they’re gonna try_

Finn, still in the Warbler blazer, lets out a burst of laughter. Kurt smirks in Finn’s direction as he continues singing.

_Disappear – yeah, well, you wanna try  
Wanna bundle up into some big ass lie  
Long enough for them to all just quit  
Long enough for you to get out of it_

_Yeah, you’re fucked all right – and all for spite  
You can kiss your sorry ass goodbye  
Totally fucked – will they mess you up?  
Well you know they’re gonna try_

There’s a lot of applause and some laughter, and Puck wishes he’d thought to take a picture of Schue’s face. “Wow.” Schue finally says, chuckling. “That is definitely a song we’re unlikely to do. Thanks for closing the doors first.” He shakes his head a little. “We’ll finish up tomorrow, guys. Have a great evening!”

Mike and Brittany walk over to where Puck, Rachel, and Kurt are all clumped. “Want to do something tonight?” Mike asks. “I’m out of ideas, though.”

“What about Rinky Dinks?” Brittany suggests. “It’s totally a good way to relieve stress.”

“Also ridiculous,” Kurt nods, grinning. “Seven-thirty?”

“See you then,” Mike nods.

 

“I think that defeats the purpose of audition stress relief,” Puck points out as they head towards Rinky Dinks later. Kurt puts on a recording of himself singing, critiquing the entire song.

“No, now I’ll just have plenty of stress to relieve.”

Puck snorts. “Next time I’ll bring my theory work to go over on the way, then.”

Kurt purses his lips and looks like he can’t decide what to say, and Puck just grins. “Fine,” Kurt concedes, unplugging his phone and letting the radio come on. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. We get pot nachos tonight!”

Kurt laughs. “That’s true. And to make utter and complete fools of ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself.” Puck climbs out of the Nav with a grin. “I am the picture of grace and, uh, something, when on rollerskates.”

“Right.” Kurt shakes his head. “And I am actually the love child of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley.”

“That would explain a lot, actually,” Puck laughs, heading towards the desk to rent their skates.

“I’ll go get some tassstttty nachos.” Kurt raises his eyebrows and grins as he walks over the concession area.

The guy behind the skate counter hands Puck one green pair of skates and one tan pair, and he walks over to where Mike and Brittany are already sitting. “I think Rachel just came in,” Mike says when Puck sits down, and Puck nods.

Kurt approaches after a minute and hands Puck a bowl of nachos. “Have some pot jalapenos.”

“Mmm, tasty!” Puck grins. “You want green, tan, or one of each.”

“Ooh, let’s be stylish and wear one of each!”

“You guys wear the same size shoe?” Mike asks.

“Yep.” Puck nods. “It would be convenient, except I’m not really into purple Docs.”

“And I don’t need even more pairs of Cons,” Kurt finishes.

“I would pay good money to see Puck wear purple Doc Marten boots,” Rachel says from behind them, and when they turn, she’s grinning.

“How good?” Puck says after a minute. Purple Doc Marten boots for a significant sum? Not a bad deal.

“How good would it have to be?” Rachel responds, giggling.

“Fifty.” “One hundred.”

Puck laughs. “Okay, let’s go with what Kurt said.”

Brittany claps her hands. “That would be so cool! Puck, you’d look good in Kurt’s boots.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time Puck wore Kurt’s clothes, would it?” Rachel asks, grinning. “I mean, I understand Puck didn’t have an alternative to wearing someone else’s shirt on Monday afternoon, but.”

“I wondered about that!” Mike says, grinning.

“Hey, usually slushies hit your face, not the back of your shirt!” Puck shrugs. “And Finn’s stuff is too big for me, even.”

“It would be weird if you were in Finn’s clothes,” Brittany says.

“It is a disturbing visual,” Kurt nods, sitting down and putting on his skates. “So are you excited about Saturday, Brittany?”

“I can barely stand it,” Brittany nods. “I’ve practicing my performance for two weeks. I can even do it if they’re in blindfolds.” She pauses. “I hope they’re in blindfolds!”

“They probably won’t be,” Puck says slowly. “But break a leg, Britt.”

“I don’t think that’ll help, but maybe if one of them breaks a leg,” she says, looking thoughtful.

“Let’s get skating!” Rachel chirps. “Everyone’s skates on?”

“Stylishly,” Kurt nods.

Puck stands up and holds his hand out for Kurt while he’s standing up, and Kurt takes a moment to get his feet under him. Puck curls his fingers through Kurt’s without thinking about it, and it’s not until Mike stops short and stares that Puck even remembers that Mike doesn’t know.

“Is Mike playing now?” Brittany asks.

“Oops?” Puck says, shrugging. “I guess so.”

“Oh, that’s fun! Whose team is he on?”

“Wait, is that–playing a game–” Mike shakes his head and looks at Rachel. “Am I like the only person who didn’t know? Whatever this is exactly?” He looks closely at Kurt and Puck. “On second thought, how did I miss this?”

“Gay hide and seek,” Brittany says. “Santana and I were the best, but...” she shrugs. “We’re _so_ not winning this year.”

“No,” Mike answers slowly, “I don’t suppose you would be. So.” He shakes his head a little.

“And no, not that many people know,” Kurt answers.

“Not that many people in Lima, anyway.”

“True.” Kurt shrugs and turns to address Mike. “Rachel, Finn, Santana, Brittany, our families.”

“And Coach Beiste,” Puck snorts.

“Oh, and Casey.”

“I–how–” Mike stops and thinks for a moment. “How long?”

Rachel giggles. “That depends on if you ask them or Finn. They say August, but Finn insists it was June.”

Mike’s eyes widen a little and Puck resists the impulse to laugh. “God, are we all just self-absorbed and oblivious?”

“That’s our best guess,” Puck answers, and now he does laugh.

“They’re also _really_ good at gay hide and seek,” Brittany says. “I mean, I found them right away, but I’m really good at it, too.”

“Okay.” Mike shrugs. “Well. Cool.”

“Let’s go fall on our rear ends!” Rachel says, and they all laugh, then, headed towards the rink itself.

 

“Mr. Schue, I have finally selected what I think is an appropriate song to fulfill this assignment,” Rachel announces as soon as the bell rings to signal the beginning of fourth period on Friday morning. “It was somewhat difficult for me to do so, but I am eager to present my choice now.” She’s already standing up and handing sheet music to Brad, so Schue just waves his hand in acknowledgement and moves to the side of the room.

“I’ll be performing ‘It’s Oh So Quiet,’” Rachel informs them all, “by the Swedish artist Björk.”

“She’s from Iceland,” Tina interrupts her with a frown.

“Oh. Well.” Rachel gives a flustered shrug. “The _Scandanavian_ artist Björk.” Brad begins to play before Rachel can saying anything further, forcing her to begin the song.

_it's. oh. so quiet  
it's oh. so still  
you're all alone  
and so peaceful until..._

_you fall in love  
zing boom  
the sky up above  
zing boom  
is caving in  
wow bam  
you've never been so nuts about a guy  
you wanna laugh you wanna cry  
you cross your heart and hope to die_

Puck’s heard of Björk before but he’s not sure if he’s ever actually listened to one of her songs or not. It’s not bad but it’s not really his style, and he definitely can’t imagine it being done by a show choir.

_the sky caves in  
the devil cuts loose  
you blow blow blow blow blow your fuse  
when you've fallen in love_

_ssshhhhhh..._

Rachel almost mugs for the camera at the end of the song, except that there is no camera involved, but the applause is tepid. “Well, that’s definitely different,” Schue says finally. “Thank you, Rachel. All right, who’d like to go next?”

“I would, Mr. Schue,” Quinn responds, rising to her feet. “I have a song by Hey Monday.” She shoots a brief, triumphant look in Kurt’s direction. Kurt looks at Puck and rolls his eyes.

“How creative,” he whispers as Quinn speaks to Brad for a second. Puck snorts. No, Quinn’s not particularly creative with her pointed comments or petty schemes. Brad starts to play, though, and Quinn opens her mouth with one of her patented prom queen smiles.

_Homecoming, I'm coming  
My sweet mistake  
Summer's over, hope it's not too late  
I'm pacing, impatient  
Up in my head  
Taken back to the sidewalk where we met_

To be fair, it’s _not_ the best song for a show choir, but neither is it the best song for Quinn’s voice.

_I'm coming home, I'm coming home  
Did you take off while I was gone?  
I missed it all, I messed you up, I missed you.  
I'm coming home, I wanna know  
When all the leaves begin to fall  
If I'm falling, falling apart for you._

There’s another round of somewhat tepid applause, and Schue reaches for something to say again. “Well, I think you’re definitely right, Quinn. That’s probably not all that well-suited for a show choir performance, either.”

Quinn just nods and smiles her agreement as she sits down, glancing at Kurt again, who is pointedly ignoring her and angling his body towards Puck. Puck resists the urge to flip her off, because starting a war in glee club probably isn’t what he should be going for.

“Okay, Mercedes? Puck? Who wants to go next?”

“I’ll go,” Puck offers, walking to the front of the room and picking up his guitar. “Classified, ‘The Day Doesn’t Die.’” He starts off soft, repeating the opening phrase before the song begins to pick up.

_Forgive. Forget. That's a lesson that we haven't learned yet.  
We try. We cry. But a day doesn't die til the sun is set._

_Uh, yeah, night falls, days come and go  
No retreat, stubborn, played the role,  
Held a grudge, seen it takes it's toll  
I guess it proves I still got a way to go_

Unlike most of the rest of them, Puck isn’t really trying to communicate anything with his song choice; he just likes the song and thinks it’s one of the few opportunities he’ll have to use it.

_Eye for an eye, the adrenaline is kicking in  
Burn me once then it's shame on you  
If I let it happen twice than it's shame on me  
Okay, I get it, this is part of the vicious  
Cycle we live in so I'm forgivin  
Still gittin heated with anyone who burns us  
I won't hold a grudge but I'm still tryin' to learn to_

Of course, he’s most of the way through the song when he realizes that some of them are going to assume he actually was trying to say something in particular. The thought makes him laugh and he almost flubs one line.

_Sometimes I think I'm a rebel  
But I'm trying to be the bigger man and never sink to your level  
I try to stay subtle in all my neighbours drama_

No one else seems to recognize the song, except for Kurt, which surprises him a little, but maybe it shouldn’t. His own musical taste is apparently eclectic enough to defy expectation, or something like that. He’ll have to ask Kurt again.

_Forget. Forget. That's a lesson that we haven't learned yet.  
We try. We cry. But a day doesn't die til the sun is set._

_Forgive. Forget. That's a lesson that we haven't learned yet.  
We try. We cry. But a day doesn't die til the sun is set. _

“Great song,” Schue says as Puck sets his guitar down. “And a nice message of sorts, too.”

Puck shrugs. “I just like the song. Not really competition material, though.”

“No,” Schue concedes. “Probably not. All right. Mercedes?”

“I decided to go way outside my usual range to find something we couldn’t adapt to our purposes,” Mercedes says with a grin. “So this is ‘Achy Breaky Heart.’ It’s by Miley Cyrus’ dad!”

_You can tell the world you never was my girl,  
You can burn my clothes when I'm gone,  
Or you can tell your friends just what a fool I've been,  
And laugh and joke about me on the phone._

_You can tell my arms to go back onto the farm,  
You can tell my feet to hit the floor,  
Or you can tell my lips to tell my fingertips,  
They won't be reaching out for you no more._

_But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart,  
I just don't think it'd understand,  
And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart,  
He might blow up and kill this man.  
Ooo_

Mercedes’s performance is excellent, but the song itself is so very bad that it’s hard to enjoy. Still, Mercedes clearly knows and understands just how bad the song is, and has some fun with it. Sam’s the only one who seems to actually _like_ the song, but everyone applauds with a grin at the end.

“I remember that song,” Schue concedes wryly. “All right, guys. Next week’s assignment is family, or relatives. However you choose to interpret that. Obviously I think those need to be solos, but we’re going to work on a group number for next Friday. Mike, if you can make sure you’re ready to go on Monday?” Mike nods and Schue continues. “Also, Ms. Pillsbury asked if I would distribute your report cards to you. Same drill as always,” he says over the ensuing groans, spreading the twelve cards over the top of the piano.

There’s a mad scramble from about half of the group, shoving the cards this way and that in a bid to find their own–not to mention the hope of sneaking a glance at someone else’s grades. Puck just watches for a few moments. Finn peers at his briefly before nodding, a slight smile on his face; Rachel stares at hers happily except for whatever class she looks at last, which makes her scowl. Mercedes just shrugs, and Sam looks happy enough. Mike and Tina wait for the first initial rush to end, pocketing theirs without even looking at them, and Artie essentially smirks. Brittany seems to have Santana’s, and vice versa, from the conversation that they begin, and it’s just unfortunate that Puck and Kurt happen to be the last in the room, along with Quinn.

“Oh, look. A blank piece of paper. These must be your grades, Puck.”

Puck rolls his eyes and picks up his actual report card without even looking at it. “So very funny,” he says dryly.

“Too bad you can’t apply your wit to your academic pursuits,” Kurt says, voice dripping with sugary-sweetness. “Wasn’t your name missing from the principal’s honors list last quarter, Miss Fabray?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Quinn snaps, before she stomps away in a huff.

“I think that makes the score, what, four to zero?” Puck asks, raising his eyebrow, and Kurt laughs.

“I think so.” He fingers his own report card. “Well?”

“Oh, right.” Puck flips it over. “Not as good as first quarter, but you did stop doing my English worksheets.”

Kurt snorts. “True.”

“A in music theory, A- in history, B+ in physics, B- in English.”

“Nice.” Kurt grins and looks down at his own card. “Oh, what do you know? I have a B+ in physics, too!”

“I’m shocked.”

“Truly. B- in statistics, A- in English.”

“We should celebrate.”

“After class,” Kurt corrects, grinning. “We don’t have enough time beforehand.”

Puck smirks. “I like the way you think.”

 

He likes the way that Kurt thinks even more when he reaches the Nav at 3 to find Kurt in the passenger seat, two outer layers already shed. “I’m driving, I take it,” Puck says as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Mmmhmm.” Kurt smiles slowly. “I thought it was time you understood what it was like to drive while someone in the passenger seat was distracting you.” Puck pulls out of the parking lot as Kurt reaches across the console and slides his hand onto Puck’s thigh. “Don’t you agree?”

“Uh.” Puck nods as Kurt’s hand slowly inches higher, fingertips trailing. “Whatever you say.”

Kurt giggles. “Whatever I say, really?” He moves his hand onto Puck’s chest, fingers dipping under Puck’s shirt. Puck bites his lip and tries to concentrate on the road.

“Within, um. Reason?” Puck hazards, thankful that the drive to Kurt’s house is short. Kurt takes Puck’s hand, pushing up his sleeve and pressing small kisses to Puck’s forearm. Puck can feel his breath catch a little and he shifts in the seat.

“Pity,” Kurt whispers softly, the words ghosting across Puck’s wrist. He lowers his lips to Puck’s skin and sucks gently, nibbling at the exposed, thinner skin. Puck figures he’ll have a hickey there, but who’s going to realize what it is, if it’s even still there by Sunday night?

“What?” Puck’s not sure what they were talking about, not between Kurt’s mouth and Kurt’s hands and trying his best not to crash the Nav, because everyone would kill him, including himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurt says, voice low and full of promise. “We’re almost home.”

“Good.” Puck nods and there’s silence the remainder of the drive, Kurt’s mouth still on Puck’s hand and arm. Puck parks and they walk in still silent, fingers intertwined, Kurt’s outer layers folded over Kurt’s arm.

Their boots are left by the door and their bags just inside Kurt’s room, and then Kurt’s pressing against Puck, his hands under Puck’s shirt and his lips covering Puck’s own. Puck lets Kurt direct him towards the bed and take off his shirt. His jeans and underwear follow and before Puck can really process all of it, they’re both naked and underneath Kurt’s sheets, Kurt grinning down at him. “Hi, baby,” he breathes softly, and Puck grins in response.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

"I know!" Kurt laughs. He lowers himself a little, his body skimming against Puck's. "Mmm, you feel so good."

Puck lifts his head and brushes his lips against Kurt's, running his tongue along them until they part. Kurt lowers his head further until Puck's head is back on the bed and Kurt's tongue is deep inside Puck's mouth. Puck wants to break the kiss, to move his mouth to other parts of Kurt, but when Kurt's hand comes to rest on his hip, Puck knows he's not going to make it that long. He wants Kurt balls-deep inside him when he comes, and he lifts his hips slightly.

Kurt's hand slips into the space between Puck and the bed, his thumb dragging over Puck's entrance slowly. He breaks their kiss and moves his mouth to Puck's ear, tugging on Puck's earlobe and then mouthing against Puck's neck. "Wish I could mark you up," Kurt confesses, and Puck smiles sadly.

"Me too, blue eyes."

"Mine," Kurt adds, voice fierce, and part of Puck wants to tilts his head, bare his neck to Kurt and let Kurt nip and bite and suck to his heart's content, and screw the consequences. The rest of him remembers Brittany's face, and Santana's, and the fact that they can't even trust all of the twelve people in glee club with them, and so all he does is nod, recapturing Kurt's lips with his own and sliding his arms around Kurt's neck.

If Puck didn't know that Burt could walk through the door in less than an hour, he'd hold Kurt there, letting their tongues clash and their cocks drag until they explode, then shift to his knees, but he figures that if Burt ever walks in on them, it needs to be at least April. Not the end of January.

So he slowly pulls away, rolling over and shifting his legs, and he can feel the bed dip as Kurt kneels between his legs. There's a brief touch, and then Kurt's tongue flicks over him. Puck whimpers and shifts again, and Kurt thrusts his tongue into Puck, moving the tip slowly inside him. "Oh, fuck," Puck gasps. "Kurt."

There's no response except for a movement of Kurt's tongue, pulling out and then plunging back in, and Kurt does this a few more times before withdrawing. Puck turns his head to watch Kurt rummaging in the drawer, and Kurt notices, bending down to part Puck's lips and kiss him deeply before Puck feels the press of two slick fingers inside him. "Just like this, baby?"

"Yeah. Damn," he moans, moving himself on Kurt's fingers. He can practically hear the smirk on Kurt's face as Kurt's fingers move in and out of Puck, slowly at first and then more rapidly. Puck can tell Kurt's waiting for something, waiting until Puck does or says something, and Puck doesn't know what it is, but finally it happens, and Kurt's fingers are replaced with his cock.

"Oh, I wish you could see this, baby," Kurt almost purrs. "Watch yourself stretch around me, sucking me in. So eager." A hand runs smoothly over Puck's ass and he moves into it. "Yeah, just like that, Puck. Beautiful." When Kurt is completely inside Puck, he leans forward, whispering near Puck's ear. "Going to make you come without touching you, baby."

"Yes." Puck whimpers a little. "Yeah, K." He can feel his stretched muscles tightening again around Kurt and he lets out a long, deep breath. "Fuck."

"That is the plan." Kurt pulls back slowly and then pushes back in, equally slowly, and Puck shakes his head. "Faster?" Puck nods, and Kurt complies, his hands gripping Puck's hips tightly. Maybe he'll have marks there, at least, and he closes his eyes with that thought, losing himself in Kurt's motion and the constant words falling from Kurt's lips into Puck's ears.

He loses track of time, loses track of everything except Kurt and himself and the bubble they've created for themselves in that moment. Kurt's hands are warm and firm on Puck's hips and his cock pounds into Puck unrelentingly. Kurt leans down and whispers in Puck's ear again, telling him all manner of things, describing how Puck looks and how much Kurt wants him.

"Now you're going to come for me, baby, come all over my bed, and I'm going to fill you up." Puck can feel his body coil at the words, then he explodes just as Kurt says, the feeling of Kurt shooting inside him simultaneously. Kurt collapses onto Puck's back and Puck twists an arm to put his hand on Kurt's back, holding Kurt in place. "Don't want me to move?" Kurt murmurs, and Puck shakes his head.

And Kurt doesn't, though after a few moments he slips out of Puck, much to Puck's disappointment, and Kurt raises his head enough to press his lips along Puck’s shoulders. “Stay here,” Puck mutters into the mattress, and Kurt’s head nods a moment in acknowledgment.

“I don’t think I like this month very much.”

“No,” Puck sighs. “At least it’s almost over. February can’t be worse, can it?”

Kurt laughs for a moment. “It’s definitely a shorter month, anyway.”

“One twenty-nine, right?”

“And one eighty-eight,” Kurt replies.

“Awesome.” Puck grins against the mattress. “We’ll make it one way or another.”

“Yes. We will.”

 

Kurt grabs his laptop off his desk and flops onto his bed with it, looking through Facebook and email absent-mindedly. There’s a rap on his door frame and Kurt looks up to Finn looming there, in as much as Finn is capable of looking menacing enough to be termed looming. “Come in,” Kurt says with a nod, shutting his computer and putting it on his bedside table.

“So, I was thinking about our next assignment for glee,” Finn says, leaning on the door frame.

“No, seriously, come in,” Kurt repeats, moving to one side with a wry smile. “What about it?”

Finn sits down on Kurt’s bed. “I think we should do a duet.”

Kurt tilts his head. “It was rather presumptuous of him to assume they would all be solos, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I guess we’re the only family in glee, technically,” Finn says, shrugging. “But still, I think we should sing something together. I think that would be awesome.”

“It would be,” Kurt agrees. “Did you have a song in mind?”

“Well, there’s this Springsteen song,” Finn suggests. “I don’t know if you’d like it or anything.” Finn looks almost bashful. “Here, can I pull it up on your laptop?”

Kurt nods and picks it up, passing it to Finn. “Sure.”

Finn picks up Kurt’s laptop and goes to YouTube, where he types in a song, hunting and pecking for the right letters on the keyboard. “Your laptop is too tiny, dude,” Finn says, finally putting down the laptop as the song starts to play.

“You need an extra-large keyboard,” Kurt says quietly, listening to the music. He nods as the song comes to an end. “I think we could easily do that.”

“You like it?” Finn raises his eyebrows at Kurt, hopeful smile on his face.

“I do,” Kurt agrees. “What’s the name of it?”

“‘Blood Brothers.’” Finn grins. “You know, like everybody used to do at camp.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows quizzically. “I only went to camp once, at the YMCA.”

“Oh,” Finn says. “Well, you poke your thumb with a pin, you and your buddy, and then you put them together like this.” He holds up his thumb. “Dude, thumb,” he prompts Kurt.

Kurt tentatively raises his own thumb up, waiting to see what Finn does next. Thumb gently, but firmly, presses the pad of his thumb against Kurt’s. “See?” he says. “Then, you know, my blood and your blood would be mixed together, and we’d be blood brothers. If we’d poked our thumbs first, obviously.”

“Fascinating. You did this often?”

“Nah,” Finn scoffs. “That’s not something you do with just everyone. It’s only for _serious_ stuff, like best friends or whatever.” He looks thoughtful for a minute. “Or, like me and you could do it, and then we’d be blood brothers, too, instead of just step-brothers. I can go get a pin!”

“Finn!” Kurt says, looking slightly alarmed. “We can’t just... you know...” He makes a circling gesture with one arm, and he’s not really sure what it’s supposed to mean, himself.

“Well, it was just a suggestion,” Finn says, looking crestfallen. “I mean, we both keep saying that it feels like we’re real brothers, not step-brothers, so. You know, it’s, like, _symbolic_ or something...or possibly legally binding. I’m not totally sure about that.”

“It’s just, um. It’s an exchange of bodily fluids,” Kurt says, a little more calmly.

Finn shakes his head, like he’s not exactly sure what Kurt’s trying to explain. “I’m not gonna, I dunno, _lick_ you or anything. I’m not a dog.”

“Blood’s a bodily fluid, Finn. And um.” Kurt sighs. “Can I be blunt?”

Finn shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat, man.”

“When’s the last time you were tested?”

Finn shakes his head again. “I had a quiz in A&P last Thursday.”

Kurt can feel himself growing alarmed. “Wait, but. You and Santana–you never? You haven’t been tested at all?”

“I dunno,” Finn shrugs. “Maybe? I mean, they always do all kinds of tests and stuff at my check ups, and they didn’t tell me I was dying or anything. And, uh, you know, we used a, um. You know. Protection.”

“Still,” Kurt insists. “Unless you ask for a full panel of testing for STIs, they won’t do it. Because you’re straight.”

“I don’t know what I asked for,” Finn admits. “My mom filled out the paperwork last time. It’s just... _so many forms_ , Kurt!”

“Carole doesn’t even know you’ve had sex, does she?” Kurt hisses.

Finn cocks his head and scrunches up his face. “Hmm. Yeah, I guess not. So, I need to go get a panel of tests, because I’m straight and I can give you a disease with my thumb, right?”

“No. Because I know I’m clean and I know my boyfriend’s clean and I don’t want to have to use a condom.” He shrugs. “You said I could be blunt.”

Finn’s face turns bright red. “ _Dude_!” He puts his hand over his eyes. “I thought you guys were, you know. You’re supposed to be the good example safe sex guy!”

“Just because we’re not following the letter of the CDC recommendations doesn’t mean we’re not being safe,” Kurt points out, unapologetically. “The point is–well, the purpose is to come to a consensus within a relationship.”

“Well, I don’t really need a census. There was just the one girl. Me and Rachel haven’t.”

“Oral sex is still sex,” Kurt remarks, “at least for the purpose of safe sex discussions. And not a census, Finn. A consensus. An agreement.”

“Oh, me and Rachel seem to have an agreement that there’s no oral sex,” Finn says. “So, that’s not an issue.” He makes a face, like he’s deep in thought. “But if I need to go get those tests, I’ll go get them. I can just do that at a regular doctor, right? There’s not some kind of special blood sex disease test doctor or anything.”

“I think Rachel would appreciate knowing that you took a proactive step, yes,” Kurt answers with a nod. “Any general practice doctor or the health department also does the testing, if you’d rather Carole not know about it.” Kurt purses his lips, thinking. “You’ll have to explicitly ask for a full panel; typically they only run them on women or gay men. I’m not sure why, since straight men are obviously carriers infecting women.” He shakes his head. “It’s quick and you pay on a sliding scale. But, um.”

“I’ll just tell them I need to make sure I don’t give my brother diseases with my thumb,” Finn nods. “They’ll probably understand.”

Kurt stifles a laugh. “I just wanted to warn you about the swab.”

“What swab?”

“It’s like a big q-tip,” Kurt says. “They have to stick it, ah, inside the tip.”

“The tip of _what_?” Finn asks, his eyes widening.

“What do you think?” Kurt says dryly, fixing Finn with a stare. “No, I’m not looking forward to that in another month or two.”

“Oh _God_ ,” Finn mouths. “That’s _horrible_! Oh, GOD!” He hops up from Kurt’s bed and starts backing out of the room. “We will never speak of this again!” he announces, before bolting out the door.

“Every six months, Finn!” Kurt yells after him. “More often if you have multiple partners!”

Finn’s only response is a loud groan and a slamming door. Kurt sighs.

“At least I tried,” he mutters to himself.

 

Saturday and Sunday pass all too quickly; Puck and Kurt send Brittany good luck texts on Saturday amongst their own studying and working towards auditions. Sunday is nearly a carbon copy, except with work in the morning instead of services, and glee rehearsal instead of a late night at Waffle House.

“Did you decide which song to do?” Kurt asks when they retreat to Kurt’s bedroom after rehearsal. Puck doesn’t know if Finn wanted more time with Rachel or understood Puck’s telepathic requests, but either way he wrapped rehearsal a little early and then Kurt encouraged them all to leave.

Puck nods, pressing his lips together. “It’ll definitely piss _her_ off, and probably make everyone else uncomfortable, but it’s...” He shrugs. “It’s what I want to sing.”

“It won’t make me uncomfortable,” Kurt points out. “And I doubt it will make Sam or Mike or even Artie or Finn uncomfortable.”

“That’s true,” Puck concedes. “It’s just... breaking the first rule of glee club,” he cracks a grin.

Kurt laughs a little. “Yes.” He runs his hand over Puck’s head. “I bet we have at least twenty minutes before Dad comes banging up the stairs,” he says softly, bringing his face close to Puck’s.

“Oh, well. In that case.” Puck’s grin grows wider, and he puts his own hand along Kurt’s jaw. “Let’s take advantage of the time.” Kurt’s lips are soft when they reach Puck’s, and Puck’s grin stays in place for the next twenty minutes.

 

“Okay!” Schue enters the room with a stack of sheet music under his arm. “I have the music for our group number on Friday here, so grab your copy as you leave. Before we start, though–” Schue sighs. “Is the situation in the hallways any better?”

They all exchange uncomfortable glances. It’s better, Puck thinks, in that no one’s had to change clothes so far that day, but the verbal assaults aren’t getting any better. He’s not stupid; he watches the mask Kurt puts on every day, the mask Santana’s learning to wear. His is a different mask, but they’re all stuck with their masks, trying not to flinch.

“We’ve not been slushied as much,” Tina finally answers for them. “It was really bad until Wednesday, though.”

Schue nods, looking thoughtful. “Okay, thanks. I’ll let Principal Figgins and the others know.” He sets the sheet music on the piano and exchanges an enigmatic glance with Brad. “All right, who’d like to go first?”

“I would!” Rachel springs up, to the surprise of exactly no one. “I wanted to choose a classic song that highlighted the father/daughter relationship, since I have two dads instead of just one. A perfectly valid family configuration,” she adds, and Puck thinks that’s sort of unnecessary, but Rachel shoots a dark look at Quinn as she speaks, so maybe not totally unnecessary. “I will be singing ‘Unforgettable.’”

“Nice choice. Let’s hear it.”

_Unforgettable  
That's what you are,  
Unforgettable  
Tho' near or far. _

_Like a song of love that clings to me,  
How the thought of you does things to me.  
Never before  
Has someone been more..._

Rachel does well with the song, and Puck can’t remember if he’s heard the song with a girl or a guy singing before, even though it’s vaguely familiar.

_That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am  
Unforgettable, too._

“Very nice, Rachel. All right, Mike, are you ready?”

Mike nods and stands up. “I’ll be doing ‘Cat’s in the Cradle.’”

“Oh, another great classic.”

_My child arrived just the other day  
He came to the world in the usual way  
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay  
He learned to walk while I was away  
And he was talking before I knew it and as he grew  
He said, "I’m gonna be like you, Dad,  
You know I’m gonna be like you”_

Puck purses his lips and tries not to really listen to the song. Between Rachel’s song and now Mike’s, he feels like there’s a theme going on.

_And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon  
Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
When you coming home, Son, I don’t know when,  
But we'll get together then, Dad,  
You know we'll have a good time then._

“Oh, I think we all enjoyed that, Mike,” Schue says with a grin. “Okay, who’s next?”

Finn raises his hand. “We’d like to go, Mr. Schue.”

“We?” Schue looks surprised. “As I said, I thought these would be–”

“Yeah, ‘we.’ Me and my _brother_ , remember? Because,” he says, pointing at himself and Kurt. “Family, see? We.”

To his credit, Schue recovers quickly. “Oh, of course, of course,” he nods. “Right!” He shakes his head. “Sorry, boys, I didn’t think. Obviously.” He gestures expansively at the front of the room. “What do you have for us?”

“Puck’s gonna be our bat-guitar, and me and Kurt are singing ‘Blood Brothers,’” Finn says, looking proud of himself.

“Oh, Springsteen, right?” Schue nods. “Cool.”

Puck grabs a stool and settles on it, starting to play with a nod in Finn and Kurt’s direction.

_We played king of the mountain out on the end  
The world come chargin' up the hill, and we were women and men  
Now there's so much that time, time and memory fade away  
We got our own roads to ride and chances we gotta take  
We stood side by side each one fightin' for the other  
We said until we died we'd always be blood brothers_

Puck finds himself wishing they had someone to play harmonica on the bridges, but he’s pretty sure none of them or the jazz band have that skill.

_Now I don't know how I feel, I don't know how I feel tonight  
If I've fallen 'neath the wheel, if I've lost or I've gained sight  
I don't even know why, I don't know why I made this call  
Or if any of this matters anymore after all_

_But the stars are burnin' bright like some mystery uncovered  
I'll keep movin' through the dark with you in my heart, my blood brother_

Finn grabs Kurt into a giant hug at the end of the song. Kurt flails a little, resembling a captured kitten when the mama cat carries him back to the box for grooming or whatever. Puck grins a little but keeps sitting on the stool even as they sit back down.

“I’d like to go ahead and go while I’m up here,” he addresses Schue, who nods his agreement. “So. Yeah.” Puck strums the first chord, stops, and then starts again with a deep breath.

_May the sunlight find your face  
Even when the rain does fall  
And get back on your feet again  
Every time you slip and fall  
Keep your heart wide open  
And always taking in  
And even when it's broken  
Be strong enough to fix it up again_

_Oh little baby girl  
Sweet little baby girl  
I wish I could hold your hand in this great big world  
Oh little baby girl_

Puck looks up briefly, purposely avoiding catching anyone’s eye, but he can see Quinn go pale, then pink, and then just glare at him. Puck refrains from rolling his eyes, though he’s pretty sure Kurt doesn’t do the same.

_And I hope your friends are many  
And your laughter's always loud  
To help you when you're lonely  
And pick you up when you're down  
I hope your eyes shine bright love  
And learn to see the light  
Take the time to listen  
Decide yourself what's wrong or right_

_Oh little baby girl  
Sweet little baby girl  
Be strong in this great big world  
Oh little baby girl_

“Nice,” Quinn snipes, standing up and stomping out of the room with her bag in hand. Finn exchanges looks with Puck and Kurt, mouth gaping. Puck just shrugs. It’s not surprising to him that once again, Quinn tries to make it all about her, like there are no other people actually involved.

No one else makes a comment–also unsurprising–and Schue waits until the room is mostly empty before complimenting Puck’s performance. “The three of you, really,” he continues, looking at Finn and Kurt, who are also still the room. “Genuine emotion, both in song choice and in the performance, that’s what I was hoping to see.”

There’s not really much to say in response, and they quietly pick up their sheet music and leave the choir room, Finn heading towards the cafeteria with a wave as Kurt and Puck turn towards the parking lot.

 

The week drags, and not in the good way, like lazy summer days. No, it drags in the worst way, with schoolwork and increasing audition stress and tests and rehearsals. Finn’s over the moon about how they’re doing in rehearsal, though, and at least on Thursday afternoon, Puck knows he doesn’t have to perform or, as far as he knows, bat-guitar.

Of course, he has to go to the psychiatrist after the glee rehearsal, and that’s enough to distract him from lunch onward, his feet and fingers tapping. Kurt gets back early and just wraps his arms around Puck from behind, holding on tightly without saying a word, until the bell rings and he steps away reluctantly.

“Who’s up?” Schue begins the meeting unceremoniously, and when no one volunteers, he scans the room. “Quinn. Let’s hear what you have.”

Quinn looks startled and scowls for a moment, but stands with a slight nod. She whispers to Brad and he begins to play softly.

_Martha it's your brother calling  
time to go up north and see mother,  
things are harder for her now  
and neither of us is really that much older than each other anymore._

Quinn determinedly looks at the windows high on the wall, not looking at any of them, though it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she’s singing about her older sister.

_All the while you heat the plates  
and serve a little wine  
and wear a hat and make 'em laugh  
and forget that there is nobody  
in the room anymore_

_It's your brother calling Martha  
It’s your brother calling Martha  
Please call me back_

There’s quiet, soft applause as Quinn takes her seat again, and Santana stands before Schue can ask for another volunteer. “This is by Arcade Fire.” It’s the only introduction she gives, launching into the song.

_Alexander, our older brother,  
set out for a great adventure.  
He tore our images out of his pictures,  
he scratched our names out of all his letters._

_Our mother shoulda just named you Laika!_

_Come on Alex, you can do it.  
Come on Alex, there's nothin' to it.  
If you want somethin' don't ask for nothin,  
if you want nothin' don't ask for somethin'!_

There’s some actual raw pain in Santana’s voice, and Puck looks at Schue, who looks suitably impressed. Good. Maybe he really did get a wake up call.

_When daddy comes home you always start a fight,  
so the neighbors can dance in the police disco lights.  
The police disco lights.  
Now the neighbors can't dance!_

“Fantastic, Santana,” Schue says quietly, and Santana nods her thanks.

“I’d like to go now,” Brittany says, squeezing Santana’s hand as she passes her. “I’m doing ‘A Song for Mama.’”

_You taught me everything  
And everything you've given me  
I'll always keep it inside  
You're the driving force in my life, yeah  
There isn't anything  
Or anyone that I can be  
And it just wouldn't feel right  
If I didn't have you by my side_

It’s a relief to have a song that’s not so angsty, actually, and Brittany’s sunny enthusiasm is contagious enough that the tense atmosphere in the room is relieved a little. Puck thinks about the group number Schue wants them to perform and snorts. Yeah, they’re a family–a dysfunctional one.

_Mama  
Mama you know I love you  
(Oh you know I love you)  
Mama  
Mama you're the queen of my heart  
Your love is like  
Tears from the stars  
Mama I just want you to know  
Lovin' you is like food to my soul_

“That was lovely, Brittany, thank you.”

“It was fun to do!” Brittany assures Schue. “I sang it for my mom last night and she cried a little, but she said they were happy tears, so.”

Schue nods, smiling slightly. “All right, two more today?”

“I’ll go,” Sam says, standing and picking up his guitar. “I’m going to sing ‘Seein’ My Father in Me.’”

_Last night we brought the children by to visit their Grandpa  
And it's plain to see they're truly part of him  
While we were there  
Their Grandma took out some old photographs  
Man, he sure looked a lot like me back then_

_I'm seein' my father in me  
I guess that's how it's meant to be  
And I find I'm more and more like him each day  
I notice I walk the way he walks  
I notice I talk the way he talks  
I'm startin' to see my father in me_

Another happier song, in theory, though it’s clearly country and Puck tries hard not to see anything of his father in himself. His mom says Hannah’s the one that takes more after Zeke, anyway.

_And now lookin' back I can recall the times we disagreed  
When I could not take hold of his old fashioned ways  
And the more I tried to prove him wrong  
The more I proved him right  
Now I know why he still stood by me  
When I went through that stage_

_I'm seein' my father in me  
I guess that's how it's meant to be  
And I find I'm more and more like him each day  
I notice I walk the way he walks  
I notice I talk the way he talks  
I'm startin' to see my father in me_

_And I'm happy to see my father in me_

“I hadn’t heard that song before, Sam, but I like it.” Schue smiles. “All right, one more, and then we’ll do the last two and our group number tomorrow.”

“I’ll go, Mr. Schue,” Mercedes volunteers with a bright smile. “I’ll be singing ‘Father and Daughter’ by Paul Simon.”

_If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream  
And for a fraction of a second you can't remember where you are  
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream  
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star_

It’s definitely not a typical song for Mercedes, but she does a good job with it. Puck sighs and kicks his heel absently against the tile. It’s nothing deliberate on anyone’s part, he’s sure, but most of the songs just serve to remind him how messed up his family of origin is, and the rest remind him of Beth.

_I'm gonna watch you shine  
Gonna watch you grow  
Gonna paint a sign  
So you'll always know  
As long as one and one is two  
There could never be a father  
Who loved his daughter more than I love you_

“Lovely, lovely song,” Schue says, smiling. “All right, guys. Great job. See you tomorrow.”

Puck scuffs his toe against the floor as people leave the room, and Kurt busies himself with rifling through his bag. “Ready?” he says quietly when the room is finally empty, and Puck nods, lips pressed together. They’re silent as they walk out, and Kurt takes Puck’s hand across the console. “You want me to drop you off, wait in the waiting room, hang out at Starbucks...?”

Puck shrugs. “Either of the last two’s fine. There’s a table at Starbucks but it’s probably quieter in the waiting room.”

Kurt smiles a little. “True. I’ll wait at Starbucks and you can text me if you need me upstairs or anything.”

“Okay.”

Kurt lets the valet parking take care of the Nav and they walk through the lobby, Kurt peeling off to the Starbucks with a squeeze of Puck’s hand, and Puck continues through the main hospital building into the doctor’s building directly behind it. He takes the stairs to the third floor when the elevator doesn’t show after thirty seconds or so, and exhales loudly before pushing the door open to Psychiatry Partners of Lima.

“Welcome,” the receptionist smiles at him as he signs in, and Puck nods tightly. “If you could just fill out these forms, Mr. Puckerman.” Puck wrinkles his nose. Mr. Puckerman? Really? He takes the clipboard and sits down, filling in his name, address, phone number, and insurance information. He pauses for a minute where it asks for emergency contacts, and ultimately decides to put down Carole and Kurt, both. “Relationship.” He snorts and puts down “family friend” for Carole and “partner” for Kurt.

He stands and hands the clipboard back to the receptionist, who wants to make a copy of his insurance card and his driver’s license, and then finally takes his co-pay for the visit. “Dr. Nichols will be with you in just a minute.” Puck nods again and takes his seat, pulling out his phone and looking at Facebook half-heartedly.

After a twenty-five minute wait, the receptionist finally calls Puck back into the office. The room is vastly overdecorated for the size of the space and smells like a strong mix of potpourri, probably from one of several colorful vases filled with the stuff, and Lysol. Along with a pair of overstuffed chairs, a table with a box of tissues and a small stack of books, and a desk, the room is also filled with bookshelves stuffed with what are probably self-help books.

The space immediately behind the psychiatrists desk is dominated by a large decorative iron scrollwork cross. Puck suppresses a snort. The woman behind the desk looks like she came with the office furniture as part of some matched-set deal. Puck sits in one of the chairs, eyeing her with a little suspicion. “Uh, hi?” he finally says, trying to get comfortable.

“Hello, Noah,” she responds. “I’m Dr. Nichols, but you can call me Mariann if you’d like.”

Something about the way she says his name makes him want to wrinkle his nose or wash his hands or something. “Most people call me Puck,” he offers.

Dr. Nichols almost, but doesn’t quite, frown, glancing briefly down at a folder of papers on her desk. “Puck, then,” she agrees. Puck wonders if she has some kind of referral or whatever from Ms. Pillsbury, or if she’s going to start at the beginning, too. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about why you came here today?”

The beginning it is. “Ms. Pillsbury–she’s the guidance counselor at McKinley–suggested it.” He shrugs self-consciously. Dr. Nichols smiles, but it doesn’t seem to quite reach her eyes.

“Well, that’s why you’re sitting in _this_ office, No- _Puck_ ,” she corrects herself, overemphasizing his name in the process. “I’d like you to talk to me a little about what brought you in to Ms. Pillsbury, and in turn to me, in the first place.”

Puck has to work hard not to roll his eyes. He figured that out. Didn’t this woman understand that people sometimes take a minute to collect their thoughts? “My brain looks like a checklist for generalized anxiety disorder.”

“Mmhmm,” Dr. Nichols nods, giving him a small, sympathetic look. “Can you tell me a little more about that?”

“Nausea, restlessness, worrying about a whole bunch of sh–stuff, a lot of the other physical stuff.” It’s true–there’s stuff he’s never mentioned to anyone, and probably that’s good, or Kurt would have really freaked out.

She makes a few notes on a piece of paper in the folder. “Is this usually situational--does it happen as a result of specific things happening--or does it sometimes hit out of the blue?”

“Both. My brain can take pretty much anything and worry about it. So ‘something happening’ could be, like...” he trails off, trying to put it into words. So much of this, he thought everyone did. “Picking my sister up at school and they’re in the gym instead of on the playground where I thought they’d be. It’s probably because it rained or the kids just wanted to play inside instead of outside. But.”

Dr. Nichols nods again. “Yes, deviation from routine or the reality not matching up with expectations can be difficult for someone dealing with anxiety,” she says. “Reality can be very jarring, especially when it doesn’t match up with the things we’ve told ourselves are ‘true’ in our own internal monologue.”

Puck narrows his eyes a little. The things he’s _told_ himself are true? Yeah, sure, there are shades of grey, but most of the time, truth is truth. “But sometimes it is stuff that’s specific,” he continues, deliberately acting almost as if she hadn’t spoken. “Like last week, our entire glee club ended up covered in slushies. That’s what _happens_ at our school when someone’s not a nice round peg in the round hole.”

“Do you have to deal with a lot of bullying at your school, Puck?” Dr. Nichols asks. “High school can be a difficult time, especially when there’s a notable lack of moral guidance from the administration, which...” she refers to her paper. “You aren’t the first student from McKinley I’ve seen who expressed concerns about the bullying situation.”

“It’s better than it was, but it’s still pretty jacked. I mean, we have some teachers who really try, especially this year. But, yeah.” He frowns a little and looks at the big-ass cross behind her desk. Puck tries really hard not to hate on Christians, ‘cause it’s not their fault they weren’t born Jewish, right? But there’s Christians like Sam and Mercedes and even Figgins, and then there’s the weirdos that like the ugly lady with the long blonde hair.

“Talk to me a little bit about your support system,” Dr. Nichols continues. “As we move forward, it’s going to be important that you have people in your life that can provide you with support and motivation. Psychiatry isn’t an instant fix and I can’t be in my office twenty-four hours a day, no matter how much I’d like to be.” She smiles at him, but it feels...off.

Puck scratches the back of his neck, trying to figure out exactly what he’s supposed to be motivated to do by other people. It’s not like he wants to puke or whatever. “My mom’s pretty busy–my dad walked out when my sister was born.” He pauses when Dr. Nichols responds with a knowing nod, writing something else down in her folder.

“But the glee club I was talking about, and my best friend and his mom and Kurt and his dad–I mean, Carole and Burt are married.” He grins a little. “And like I said, there’s a few teachers at school, like Mr. Schue and Ms. P and Coach Beiste–Coach, she’s pretty awesome.”

“I see,” Dr. Nichols answers. “So your support structure isn’t family, primarily? That can create its own difficulties, when your support and guidance is coming from so many disparate sources.” She frowns. “This Coach Beiste, what is it that she coaches?”

“Football.” Geez, this woman must be out of touch with Lima. “And I pretty much consider Finn and Kurt and Carole and Burt family.”

“Friends can certainly _seem_ like an adequate substitute for family,” Dr. Nichols nods. “It’s easy to idealize their families, especially when they confirm those internal monologues we were talking about. It really can create a sensation of safety and acceptance to be amongst people who tell you that your expectations and beliefs are correct.”

“Huh?” Puck shakes his head. “I don’t whatever, idealize their house. I mean, it’s not been easy for Finn and Kurt to adjust to living in the same house, and I’ve known Carole–that’s Finn’s mom–for years. And if anything they tell me my expectations are too low.”

“Are Finn and Carole how you met your...friend, Kurt?” Dr. Nichols asks, glancing down at her file again.

“Finn and Kurt and I have all been in glee club together since sophomore year.” Puck squares his jaw a little. Something about the way she asked that question wasn’t right.

“Yes, the arts can an umbrella for all walks of life,” she says, and the warmth in her voice sounds increasingly false. “They can bring people together who might otherwise have traveled in different circles.” She pauses and raps her nails lightly on the folder in front of her. “Of course, this isn’t always a positive thing for everyone involved, is it?”

“It’s been pretty positive for all of us.”

“Has it been, Puck?” Dr. Nichols asks. “Is it really providing the kind of support and positive guidance that you need?” She gives Puck a long look. “I’m not so sure you would be in my office today if that were the case. You seem like a very intelligent young man, Puck. I think you realize that there’s something you need that your friends, that this lifestyle you share with them, isn’t providing for you.”

“Well, I never heard anyone before now claim that glee club caused anxiety disorders, but if you’d like Sue Sylvester’s number, I’m sure she’d love to try it out on Schue.” He shakes his head. “Pretty sure this has been rattling around in my head for a lot longer than I’ve been in glee club. Maybe it was all the football, actually.” He has a sinking suspicion of what she’s implying, but he’s going to make her say it outright.

Dr. Nichols nods, like that’s not outside the realm of possibility. “I’m not trying to make any kind of statement about your football coach’s personal life,” she says, “but I do question the motivation of a woman who chooses a career working so closely with teenage boys. Still, I don’t think that football is the cause of your anxiety, Puck. No, I think that, as with most of our troubles, the source is inside of us. We’re exposed to so many negative outside influences, and we internalize them.”

Puck can’t decide if it’s even worth arguing about Beiste, because clearly this woman in front of him is insane. Ironic, since she claims to help crazy people. “Right,” he says flatly. “I just decided to start puking and worrying all the time because of negative things like friends, the arts, and my sister.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Your body is giving you signals that something is wrong,” Dr. Nichols explains. “It’s not a conscious decision to respond with vomiting, but it does indicate that there’s some part of you that understands that something isn’t right. It got bad enough for you to come here for help, and that’s what I’m trying to do, Puck. I think your defensiveness is a good indicator that you know what I’m saying is accurate.”

“No, it’s an indicator that I think you’re the one that needs help more than me,” Puck snaps back. “You’re right about the fact that I’m not stupid. Anxiety’s a neurological thing. Not something football or glee club does.”

“Nobody is _born_ anxious, Puck,” Dr. Nichols argues. “We’re all born perfect, but things happen to us that change us along the way. Emotional traumas, like abandonment by a parent. Absence of a father in the home to model appropriate male behaviors. These can all play a role, but they don’t have to limit and define you like you’ve allowed them to do so far. You can change that, if that’s something you’re truly invested in doing.” She reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a book, handing it across the desk for Puck.

“Actually, I also read that it’s probably genetic,” Puck retorts, taking the book but not looking down for a moment. “And Hannah and I were better off without him around, anyway.” He looks down and reads the title. _The Battle for Normality: A Guide for Self-Therapy for Homosexuality._ “What the fuck?”

“You might find that helpful to read before your next session,” Dr. Nichols suggests. “You don’t have to read it all, but give it a skim at least.”

“Of all the things I’d like to change about myself,” Puck says, standing up, “being gay? Not one of them.” He tosses the book on the desk. “Also? Not interested in your Jesus dude.” He gestures at one of the books sitting on the table. “I’m sure he’s great for you and all, but I’m Jewish.”

“Puck,” Dr. Nichols starts, also standing. “Noah–”

“Is this even legal? Acting like you’re a real psychiatrist and then pulling this shit?” Puck strides to the door and flings it open, trying to imagine how Rachel would do it. He can’t settle on a parting shot so he settles for continuing down the hall and through the waiting room. There’s a woman sitting there reading a magazine and Puck shakes his head. “Don’t listen to that quack.” The outer door slams against the wall sort of satisfyingly and then he pounds down the stairs, still angry.

Puck doesn’t really plan what happens next, but when he hits the lobby and sees Kurt sitting there, he walks towards him and bends down, kissing him hard. It’s a little bit reckless and somewhat over the top, but after Kurt’s initial startle, Kurt’s hand curls around the back of Puck’s head and he deepens the kiss even further before pulling away. “You okay?” he says softly, and Puck shakes his head, letting Kurt take his hand and lead them back out of the hospital.

“What happened?” Kurt asks softly when they’re in the Nav.

“It was like a caricature. All the worst possible psychiatrists, in one overdecorated office. I knew something wasn’t right but I didn’t realize what it was until she tried to hand me a book to read ‘before my next appointment.’”

“What was it?”

“Some of kind of ‘self-help’ guide to ‘overcoming homosexuality.’” Kurt’s jaw literally drops but he doesn’t say anything. “So I threw it on her desk and told her I didn’t want her Jesus dude either and then did a Berry-worthy storm out.”

“Really?” Kurt smiles a little. “I would have liked to see that.”

“It probably just confirmed some stereotype in her head but.” Puck shakes his head. “I can’t go back there. I’ll just puke and deal with it if that’s the only option.”

“No, you can’t go there. No one should.” Kurt shakes his head, scowling. “We’ll find you someone else. Even if we have to drive to Dayton or wherever.”

“Are there like, lists of gay-friendly psychiatrists? Because there wasn’t exactly any warning, there.”

Kurt nods. “Yeah, we’ll look online later or something, okay?” He sighs and wraps his hand tightly around Puck’s hand. “I’m sorry, baby.”

They’ve been at Kurt’s for twenty minutes, curled around each other on Kurt’s bed, when “Paparazzi” sings out, and Kurt reaches for it with sigh. “Hello, Rachel.”

Kurt’s other hand rests on Puck’s chest, and Puck lifts it to his lips, kissing it softly and repeatedly while he listens to Kurt’s end of the conversation. “No, Brittany’s done with her auditions now, Rachel––yes, Mike’s en route to Chicago––honestly, Rachel, it’s not.” He stops and bites his lip while Rachel apparently continues talking. “It’s just not a good night, Rachel. I’m sorry. Next week, okay? And Mike still has more auditions, remember?” Another long pause. “I know. No, don’t do that. Yes, you could call him. Okay. Okay. Bye, Rachel.”

“She wanted to go out somewhere?”

“I just can’t pretend any more today.” Kurt rests his head on Puck’s chest. “When do we get to actually relax? Even in my own house, it’s okay to be gay, as long as we aren’t gay men who actually _fuck_.” Kurt’s voice is muffled in Puck’s shirt, but the vehemence and the frustration are not. “Why can’t they just leave us alone? Why do they all fucking hate so much?”

There isn’t an answer, and Puck wraps his arms tightly around Kurt. Kurt’s right; it’s okay for them to be theoretically gay but it’s pretty clear Carole and Rina are the only two people that are actually okay with _everything_ that entails. Everywhere they go, they’re putting on some kind of mask, even if it’s not the same mask as at school. Puck’s mind is good at thinking rapidly down rabbit trails–thank you, anxiety disorder–and in the following minutes, his brain manages to come up with a few things. They won’t really help, and Puck knows it even as he’s thinking of them, but at least they might give the two of them something else to occupy their brains.

 

Puck doesn’t really want to hang out with everyone (minus Mike who’s in Chicago) at Starbucks the next morning. Judging by the look on Kurt’s face when he picks Puck up, Kurt doesn’t really want to do it, either. They do, though, masks firmly in place, and Puck’s mask stays in place throughout the morning. He feels like he wants to punch something, but the mask holds.

“Just two more performances and then our group number!” Schue grins at all of them. “Tina, Artie, which of you wants to go first?”

“I will, Mr. Schue,” Tina volunteers. “I’ll be singing ‘Dance with My Father.’”

Puck likes to think that he has done well at not showing how this week has been for him, but he knows he makes a slight face at the title.

_Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence  
My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then  
Spin me around ‘til I fell asleep  
Then up the stairs he would carry me  
And I knew for sure I was loved  
If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him  
I’d play a song that would never, ever end  
How I’d love, love, love  
To dance with my father again_

It’s not Tina’s usual style, but she does sing it well, voice sweet and performance clearly meaningful to her.

_To dance with my father again  
Every night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream_

“Thank you, Tina,” Schue says, a little quietly. “That was beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mr. Schue.” She smiles and takes her seat again.

“Artie?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Schue.” Artie rolls forward. “I’ll be doing ‘My Father’s Gun’ by Sir Elton John.” He pushes his glasses up almost absently and nods at Brad, who returns the nod and begins to play.

_From this day on I own my father's gun  
We dug his shallow grave beneath the sun  
I laid his broken body down below the southern land  
It wouldn't do to bury him where any Yankee stands_

The album the song is from–which Puck can’t remember the name of, actually–isn’t one of Puck’s favorites, and he thinks it’s even weirder to sing a song about the Civil War, but Artie’s managing it all right and unironically.

_As soon as this is over we'll go home  
To plant the seeds of justice in our bones  
To watch the children growing and see the women sewing  
There'll be laughter when the bells of freedom ring_

“Great job, Artie.” Schue smiles a little. “We need to do more Elton John, maybe. Well. Anyway, is everyone ready for our group number?” His smile widens. “I know things haven’t been easy for various reasons for a few weeks, so I thought this was a fun reminder that no matter what, you guys have each other. Even when it might not seem like it.”

They all stand at Schue’s instruction, and the jazz band starts in on “We Are Family.” Schue’s given all the girls the chorus, so they start first.

_We are family  
I got all my sisters with me  
We are family  
Get up ev'rybody and sing_

They’re all supposed to sing the rest of it, though, cheesy and ridiculous as it is.

_Living life is fun and we've just begun  
To get our share of the world's delights  
(HIGH!) high hopes we have for the future  
And our goal's in sight  
(WE!) no we don't get depressed  
Here's what we call our golden rule  
Have faith in you and the things you do  
You won't go wrong  
This is our family jewel_

Most of the club laughs and grins through the song, especially the end of it, but Puck can’t do more than paste a forced grin on top of his mask of the day. Schue’s one of the ones laughing but as soon as the bell rings, he’s amongst the group headed out the door. Puck picks up his backpack and grimaces. “I’m going to say something to Ms. Pillsbury.”

Kurt nods. “Should I–?”

Puck shrugs. “It won’t take long.” They walk down the hall and Puck knocks perfunctorily on the open door, then steps inside.

“How can I help you, Noah?” Ms. Pillsbury looks up expectantly, a slight smile on her face.

“So that psychiatrist was a total quack.”

Ms. Pillsbury looks startled and blinks at Puck rapidly before answering, “Oh? Oh, dear, Noah. Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Puck sits on the edge of the chair, backpack still slung over one shoulder. “Apparently I wouldn’t have anxiety if my father hadn’t left and I hadn’t gotten involved with glee club. Oh, and Coach Beiste is apparently suspicious for wanting to spend time in her job with teenage boys. Oh, and I should totally want to stop being gay, because _that_ will fix everything.”

“Oh, Noah,” Ms. Pillsbury begins. “Gosh. Ok, first of all, I had no idea, _no_ idea, Noah, that she was like that. She’s sent the school some materials in the past, offering special rates for students, and nothing she sent indicated that she had any problem with students who are gay.” Ms P put her hand up to her face for a moment, like she’s at a loss for words, before continuing, “Well, that, and she’s really the only psychiatrist in town.”

“There was a lot of Jesus stuff all over the place, too, which whatever, right? But she spent a lot of time talking about inner monologues and acting like things that are true aren’t actually true and.” Puck shrugs.

“Oh, Noah,” Ms. P repeats. “I would never have recommended you go to her if I knew any of this, I hope you know that. That’s, gosh, that’s just terrible. What do you need me to do to help you? Do you still want to find someone else? I can look for recommendations from nearby cities.”

Puck shakes his head. “I’ll find somebody in Dayton or something. I just thought you ought to know before anyone else went over there.” He stands up and frowns. “She made some comment about moral guidance and not having any in the administration–I dunno what she means but it didn’t sound good.”

“Oh, dear,” Ms. Pillsbury sighs. “I won’t send anyone else to her and I might have a talk with Principal Figgins about this, too. He should be aware of what’s being said about the administration, just in case it comes up. Noah, I am _terribly_ sorry about this.”

“S’okay.” Puck shrugs. It’s not okay, not really, but it’s not Ms. P’s fault, so whatever. “I just thought you should know.” He looks at the clock on the wall and half-grimaces, half-smiles. “I gotta get over to dual enrollment. See you, Ms. P.”

“Goodbye, Noah,” she says, sounding sad. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“Will do.” Puck nods and walks back into the hallway, Kurt falling into step with him after a moment. “Apparently that idiot’s the only psychiatrist in town,” Puck states as they walk into the parking lot. There’s a light dusting of fresh snow and there’s still a little falling. Puck wipes it out of his face irritably.

“No hat?”

“No.” Puck scowls. “Forgot it.”

Kurt doesn’t start the Nav when they get inside, just locks the door and stares at the snow-covered windshield. “You have the email or phone number or something for your piano professor, right?” Puck nods. “Tell him you’re sick.”

Puck doesn’t argue, just pulls out his phone and does just that. Maybe it’s a dangerous precedent; they skipped one class just under two weeks before. He doesn’t really care, though; getting an A or getting in anywhere doesn’t really mean much if they’re completely broken at the end of it.

Kurt steers them towards Ray’s and then by Kewpee, and when they get to the Hudmel house, he starts a fire and brings down a few throws from his room. They spend the afternoon in front of the fire, first eating their burgers, then drinking hot chocolate, finishing up with slices of strawberry-rhubarb pie from Ray’s bakery.

After awhile, Kurt brings his laptop down, too, and they find a listing for a psychiatrist in Toledo that specializes in anxiety and “GLBT issues,” so Puck calls and makes an appointment for 4 pm on Valentine’s day.

“If we leave by 2:30 we should have more than enough time. Ms. Pillsbury would no doubt exucse you from last period.”

“Yeah.” Puck nods. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he snorts.

“At least it’s an excuse to leave town that day.”

“Point.”

 

Kurt pulls off his boots and hangs up his coat when he reenters the house after taking Puck home. He thinks about fixing more hot chocolate, but can’t decide as he pads down the hall in his socks.

“Hey, Kurt, that you?” Burt calls from the living room.

“Yes,” Kurt responds, veering towards the living room instead of the kitchen.

“We haven’t talked in a while. You got a minute to catch me up on stuff?” Burt asks, clicking the TV to mute.

Kurt nods. “Sure.” He’d already texted Puck before he climbed out of the Nav. He sits down on the sofa, picking up one of the throw pillows and holding it to his chest. “Are you going to need me on Sunday morning?”

“I don’t think so, unless something big comes in,” Burt says, studying Kurt’s face. “And if it does, it can wait a day or two. What’s up, kiddo?”

Kurt shrugs. “Just.” He frowns at the pillow. “I have to go to Toledo on Valentine’s Day. Probably every week or two weeks or something after that.”

Burt nods slowly. “Okay. This something you can talk to me about?”

“It’s for Puck.” Kurt picks at a loose thread on the pillow, trying not to sigh repeatedly. “People like us aren’t exactly welcome at some of Lima’s medical establishments.”

“Kurt,” Burt says, furrowing his brows, “is Puck okay? He’s not sick or something?”

“His brain, as he says, is like a checklist for generalized anxiety disorder,” Kurt says wryly, then looks around. “I wasn’t going to say anything–it’s his business–but the psychiatrist here in Lima is... she told Puck that glee club was at the root of his issues and tried to give him a book on how to stop being gay.”

“What’s her name , where’s her office, and can you get Carole to come bail me out in two hours?” Burt says, starting to rise.

“Dad!” Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t. Her last name is Nichols, and isn’t that the name of one of the city council members?”

“Shit,” Burt mutters. “Sorry. Yeah, it is.” He sighs. “I heard about that guy, nothing good. Wish I’d known something about what was going on with Puck. Might have pinged my radar.”

“Apparently she’s Lima’s _only_ psychiatrist. But. Internet to the rescue. Did you know there’s actually an association of gay and lesbian psychiatrists?”

“I did not know that, but that’s good to hear,” Burt nods. “Does Puck...is Rina able to pay for this? Because if he needs help, you say the word, Kurt, and I’ll write a check myself, especially after he had to deal with _that_.”

Kurt nods a little. “Part of the reason Puck works twenty hours no matter what is to maintain benefits. So he has health insurance on his own, not through Rina.”

Burt looks at him oddly. “He’s carrying his own insurance?” He shakes his head and sighs. “Will you guys be heading out right after school?”

Kurt nods. “It’s just over an hour’s drive, but technically Puck has an extra period between Tuesdays and Thursdays, so Ms. Pillsbury will let him leave after sixth period. I think she feels guilty for sending him to that bitch, anyway.”

“Pillsbury sent him there?” Burt looks enraged. “Son, do I need to call the school about this? That is not okay!”

“Oh, Puck took care of it.” Kurt smiles a little. “Though I’m not sure he’s realized yet that he came out to Ms. Pillsbury.”

“I’m sure she’s got some sort of confidentiality rule or something,” Burt says. “I can call, though.”

“I think she was suitably appalled. I mean, I understand–there isn’t another choice here in town, and unless someone went in, openly gay.” Kurt shrugs.

“Still, she could do a better job of vetting people before she recommends them. I don’t care if there’s one choice or one hundred,” Burt grumbles.

Kurt feels like the tables are turned; shouldn’t his father be the jaded one? It’s a good thought, but even with a group like PFLAG, it must appear that the number of GLBTQ students at McKinley is frightfully small. “Well, at least it’s over,” Kurt murmurs after a moment.

“You think this new guy’s gonna be able to help Puck?” Burt asks. “He’s not, like, in danger or something, is he?”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head. “He’s not depressed or schizophrenic or anything like that. Just anxiety.”

“I hope this guy can help, then,” Burt says.

Kurt smiles a little, even if it’s tight and sad. “Me too.” He rolls his shoulders back a little. “I think we’re going to go over to Columbus tomorrow.”

“There’s a couple twenties in my wallet,” Burt offers. “You guys eat something nice, catch a movie or something.”

“Thanks.” Kurt’s smile is a little wider, though it’s still not exactly happy. “I’ll let you know how often we’ll be going up to Toledo after the first appointment.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t want to ask you to keep secrets, but–”

“Other than Carole,” Burt insists. “Nobody else’s business.”

“I’m pretty sure Puck put Carole down as one of his emergency contacts, actually,” Kurt admits.

“Well, she’s reliable like that,” Burt says, with a fond smile. “Come here, kid,” he adds, putting his arms out for a hug. “I think you need it as much as I do.”

 

“I have forty dollars,” Kurt announces when Puck climbs into the Nav on Saturday morning, “and instructions for us to eat a nice dinner or ‘catch a movie or something.’”

“Burt?”

Kurt nods. “To be honest, I’d rather just find a place to hole up... but since that’s not an option, I found a place to eat. The restaurant is called, I kid you not, ‘Tip Top.’ And it’s located on Gay Street.”

“That seems... improbable.”

“And yet.”

“Learn something new every day.”

“So I thought we could go there for lunch. Maybe hit Lush afterwards,” Kurt adds, a hopeful lilt to his voice. “And then grab something at a coffee shop or similar, just be for awhile. I think there’s supposed to be a gay-friendly one.”

Puck nods, taking Kurt’s hand in his. Leaving Lima periodically is more or less essential for their mental health, yet if they’re honest, it ends up costing them significantly. Burt’s money makes them feel less guilty, at least, but Puck knows they’re going to continue the conversation that started Thursday and Friday.

They can’t decide on a starter at the restaurant so they end up forgoing entrees and getting four starters and a salad each, which might be sort of ridiculous, but the food is really good and Puck can’t bring himself to regret it.

He takes over driving afterwards, taking Kurt to Lush and then himself to the Sam Ash music store. Puck means to just pick up some extra strings, and maybe price some stomp boxes, but they have a good deal–no, a great deal–on a used keyboard, and he and Kurt agree to get it for Hannah for her birthday, from both of them.

So they head back into Columbus to the coffee shop with less money than they planned, but on the other hand, Hannah’s birthday present is already purchased. The coffeehouse has flavored lattes that are different than what most places have–Kurt gets a caramel apple and Puck gets tiramisu.

The coffeehouse is a good place to curl up on a loveseat together, talking quietly and making a few plans, and they share a flatbread pizza after a couple more hours, and finally Puck grabs them each a mocha to go, keeping their hands warm as they walk back to the Nav and then drive towards Lima.

“One hundred twenty-one.”

“One hundred eighty.”


	3. Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a free-for-all out there, Case.

Dave frowns down at his phone; the reassurance from Kurt notwithstanding, he’s pissed. Pissed that someone broke Santana’s trust; pissed that ben Israel posted the story. He frowns at his AP Modern European History teacher and crosses out the last two lines of notes, which instead of being about French governments in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, just say _fuck Jewfro kill him what about the rest of us fuck fuck_.

Well. At least his subconscious is on board with the rest of him. He chews on his lip for the rest of the period and then springs up out of his seat, heading towards the cafeteria. He’s nearly inside its doors when there’s an icy stinging all over his face. “Son of a bitch!” He wipes his eyes clean hurriedly but can’t tell exactly who the perpetrators were. “What the fuck,” he continues, muttering, and heads into the cafeteria. At least there are napkins there.

Five minutes into his lunch, he scans the cafeteria for at least the tenth time. Still no Casey. He pulls his phone back out of his pocket and sends him a quick text.

 _R u ok?_

Dave taps his foot as he shovels his food into his mouth, staring at his silent phone. When he finishes his plate, he grabs it and sends another message.

 _Worrying me Case. Comin 2 find u_

 _2nd fl lang wing bthrm dont worry ok?_

Dave shakes his head and stands up, leaving his tray on the table as he hurries out of the cafeteria and up the stairs. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he has a bad feeling about it. The entire _day_ is like a bad feeling. On his way to the language wing, he passes by two more victims of slushies, and he shakes his head. Indiscriminate, free-for-all slushies. It’s not good.

He pushes the door open a little more roughly than he intends. “Case?”

“Um. Hi, David.” Casey’s shaky voice comes from the handicap stall at the back of the bathroom. “You didn’t have to come all the way up here. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re missing lunch,” Dave points out. “Did–they didn’t get you, too, did they?” he asks, but there’s a growing feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

“I, um. I wasn’t really hungry today. It’s fine, everything’s just fine, okay, David?” Casey’s voice doesn’t sound like it’s fine, so much as it sounds like he’s trying to convince David of something Casey doesn’t at all believe.

“Yeah, but usually when you aren’t hungry, you’re in the library. This? Not the library.”

“No. It’s not the library,” Casey agrees, his voice thin. “But it’s okay. You can go back to lunch.”

“Already finished.” Dave drops down to the floor, sitting outside the stall. “How was chem this morning?”

“Um. Fine, it was fine, David. _Really_ , everything’s fine.”

“Right.” Dave looks around the bathroom and frowns, narrowing his eyes. “You do a lab with pH indicators today?” He knows the answer, knows what the red drips are on the floor, but there’s a faint bit of false hope, nonetheless.

“We did that one before Christmas break,” Casey says. “Um. David, you really can go if you want to. You should probably go.”

“You need me to bring you an extra shirt?” he asks, too casually. “I already had to use one but I think maybe I’ve got a t-shirt down in my locker near the gym.”

The stall door creaks open a half an inch and Casey’s green eye appears in the crack. “How’d you know?” he asks.

“Those things are awful,” Dave answers. “It’s a free for all out there. You heard what ben Israel did?”

Casey nods, and a red droplet slides down his forehead and eyelid until it catches in his eyelashes, crayon-red on golden-red. “How’d he find out?”

“Fuck,” Dave swears under his breath. “Dunno. Somebody talked when they shouldn’t have.” He shakes his head. “How bad, Case?”

There’s a loud sigh from the other side of the door, and then Casey pulls it open. His hair, shirt, and jeans are soaked with red slushie. Even his backpack is saturated. He’s obviously made some effort to dry himself up with paper towels, because a wad of wet, pink towels sits on the floor against the wall, discarded. “I dunno. Bad, I guess?”

“Shit.” Dave exhales and pushes himself back to his feet. “All right. You’re coming with me.”

Casey blinks several times and the little slushie drop in his eyelashes drips off. “Um. Okay? Where are we going?”

“To my house. Dad’s at work, but you need a full-blown shower.”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Casey says, and then whispers, “I don’t want to go back out there, David.”

“You can wear some of my stuff while we wash yours,” Dave says. “Okay? The bell will ring soon and we can slip out then.”

Casey nods, and then squints at Dave for a minute. “David? Why is your neck blue?”

“I hate the blue ones,” Dave grumbles. “They stain worse than the purple and the red.”

Casey gasps. “They got _you_?”

“Not the first time,” Dave admits, almost amused. “I told you, it’s like a free for all out there right now.” Casey nods slowly, his eyes huge in his red-stained face.

The bell rings, and Dave nods. “All right. Let’s go, Case.”

Casey takes a deep breath and picks up his backpack. “Okay.”

The halls are mostly deserted, but when they reach the outside door, Finn’s on the other side.

“Oh, hey man, what—” Finn starts, then notices Casey. “Oh, _shit_! Casey, you ok, man?”

“Um. Yes?” Casey gives Finn a tiny smile.

“It’s a fucking free-for-all,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Fucking ben Israel.”

“He’s such a douche,” Finn mutters. He glances back at Casey, then gives Dave a long look. “You got this?”

Dave nods. “Chang at least going to class this afternoon?”

“Far as I know. They cleaned up at my place and headed back before I did,” Finn says. “Helped Artie in and realized I’d left my stupid bag in my car.” Finn shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself. “Crappy day.”

“Very,” Dave nods. “Later, dude.”

“Wow,” Casey breathes. “They got _everybody_.”

“Free for all,” Dave nods. “This is insane.” They walk over to Dave’s truck and he unlocks the doors, pulling open the passenger door for Casey.

“Oh, no!” Casey exclaims. “David, I’ll get your seat sticky!”

“They’ll wipe clean,” Dave insists. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“I’m sure.” Dave tries to convey through his tone that there should be no argument. Casey smiles at Dave, a big, trusting smile, and he climbs up into the truck.

Dave closes the door and walks around, starting the engine quickly and getting the heat running. “My house isn’t too far, and I can park in the garage, so you won’t have to get cold again.”

“Thank you so much,” Casey says. “Really, David. _Thank_ you, for being so nice to me, just, all the time.”

“I’d sort of hope I’m nice to my friends,” Dave says wryly.

“There’s regular nice and then there’s _you_ ,” Casey answers, with a little shrug.

“Ah, okay?” Dave shrugs. “Thanks.”

Casey sits quietly for most of the drive, listening to the radio and occasionally singing along softly, in a voice that manages to be both monotone and off-key. Dave presses his lips together to keep from grinning. Casey wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t a singer.

Dave kills the engine as the garage door starts to descend, and he grabs both their backpacks as they head inside. “Okay, the washer machine is right in here. You, um.” He can feel himself flushing. “Wait here and I’ll get you some sweatpants and a t-shirt or something, and then we can throw your clothes in.”

“Do you think it’ll come out?” Casey asks, and his face has gone white. “I mean, I can chuck the shirt, but I need the jeans.”

“Yeah, it should, no problem,” Dave reassures him.

“I just can’t come home with slushie stains in my clothes,” Casey says, shaking his head violently. “I _can’t_. That just, there’s no way I can explain that and have it be...” He shrugs. “It’s better nobody else knows, is all.”

“Okay,” Dave nods, and then hurries up the stairs, rummaging through his closet for the too-small clothes he’s been meaning to send to Goodwill for months now. When he gets back downstairs, Casey’s shirtless back is to the door, his damp shirt in his hands. There’s a light dusting of freckles across Casey’s shoulder blades, and Dave is suddenly reminded that Casey may be little, but he’s not scrawny; he’s a teenage boy, and Dave has to forcibly close his jaw.

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling almost awkward. “I, uh, found some that were a little smaller, anyway,” he offers, holding out the clothes in Casey’s direction.

Casey jumps a little and turns towards Dave. He looks down at the shirt in his hands and up at Dave, extending the clean shirt, and bright pink points appear on his cheeks. “Oh!” he says. “I, oh, um. Do you think that I could, um, maybe,” he takes a deep breath, “maybe use your, um...your shower or a sink or something?” he finishes all in a rush.

“Oh, right!” Dave almost jumps. “Um, yeah. This, uh, this way.” He gestures with his hand, leading Casey through the kitchen to the guest bedroom and its ensuite. “Go right ahead. I’ll just, uh, make us some coffee.”

Casey gives Dave a nervous little grin. “Thanks,” he says, before he disappears into the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on following closely after. Dave takes a deep breath and walks back into the kitchen, trying hard not to think about Casey’s freckles or the way his pink nipples contrasted with the rest of his chest.

“He’s fifteen, he’s fifteen, he’s fifteen,” Dave mutters under his breath as he starts to fix the coffee. “Stop it, David Alan Karofsky.”

 

Casey cranks the hot water up as high as he can get it without scalding himself, and lets the steam fill the bathroom. He breathes a soft sigh of relief as he pulls off his sticky jeans, the denim going stiff where the corn syrup has started to dry or congeal or whatever corn syrup does. The fabric peels off his thighs with a sound like Velcro. His legs are covered in large pink smears. He knows he looks ridiculous, but then, he kind of looks ridiculous without clothes even when he hasn’t been slushied.

He peeks into the shower and sees a bar of soap and tiny hotel bottles of shampoo and conditioner, so Casey slides off his briefs—also stained pink—and steps into the shower. When the hot water hits his skin, Casey can’t contain a happy little moan over how good it feels to be warm and to wash the sugary coating off his skin. Simple things like this are so good after a bad day. Things like hot showers with soap that smells like apples, like the sound of David’s voice in that bathroom at school when he came to the rescue, like the funny heat in Casey’s chest when he thinks about David being just a few paces away while Casey’s in here showering.

Casey feels a rush of guilt over that, for thinking about David like that. David is his friend, his kind and caring friend, and Casey tries so hard not to indulge the little fantasies he has about being wrapped in those strong arms, about feeling David’s mouth on his, about feeling David’s hands...just, _anywhere_ , anywhere at all. David doesn’t think about him like that, and really, that’s okay. Casey doesn’t need that from David; he doesn’t want to need as much from him as he already does, even as friends. Casey needs too much, but David always gives, without question, so good and kind and sweet.

He’ll never let David know, not if he can help it. It would just make him uncomfortable, or worse, would just intensify the sense of obligation Casey already worries that David feels towards him. In Casey’s own way, he tries to protect David. Not in the same way David protects him—how could he? David is huge and strong and so smart, Casey is small and can barely even take care of himself—but in other ways.

David doesn’t need to know that it wasn’t one red slushie, but three, that Casey is currently shampooing out of his hair. David doesn’t need to know who threw the slushies. David already took too big of a risk, going after Johannson like that, and Casey can’t let him do that again. He’ll protect David by never telling him it was Johannson, Fordham, and one of their friends who threw the slushies; if David doesn’t know, David can’t get in trouble.

It’s just one more line on a list of things Casey doesn’t tell David, of things David will be happier not knowing, like how as much as the slushie stung when it dripped in his eyes, it didn’t even compare to the way it stung when it seeped through his sleeve and touched the careful pattern of burns at the crook of his left elbow. Things that David doesn’t need to know, things that would hurt him if he knew, and Casey can’t bear the thought of hurting David. He’s afraid he’s already hurt David too much by letting him into his life; Casey tries to compartmentalize, but David has an amazing knack of seeing right through it.

And then Casey’s right back to thinking about how amazing David is, of how there’s nothing in this world Casey wants more than to...

Casey twists the knob for the hot water to off, lets the icy water hit him briefly and shake him out of a place where his mind absolutely does _not_ need to be, not in David’s guest room shower, with David right out there in the kitchen. Casey slowly turns the warm water back on, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair before turning the water off. He quickly towels off, then picks up his discarded briefs, trying to determine which will be more uncomfortable: wearing slushie-soaked underwear, or walking out of this bathroom commando in a pair of David’s sweat pants.

 

Dave sets two full mugs on the table and sits down in front of one of them once he hears the shower stop running. After another few minutes, Casey quietly slips into the kitchen, holding the rolled up ball of his slushied clothes under one arm, sliding the waistband of the sweatpants back up his hip as he walks. He hair falls damply across his forehead and he gives Dave a bashful little grin.

“The clothes are a little big,” Casey says. “I mean, I guess you can see that.”

Dave grins back. “Sorry about that.” He stands back up and reaches for Casey’s dirty clothes. “Here, I’ll go throw these in, okay?” He needs something to do, something other than analyzing how Casey is wearing _Dave’s_ clothes; how the sleeves reach way past Casey’s elbows and how clearly Casey can barely keep the sweatpants from falling down and oh, hell, Dave didn’t need that image in his head. He repeats his mental mantra of _He’s only fifteen_ a few times with a mental sigh.

“No! You don’t have to—” Casey tries to argue, but Dave is already taking the bundle from him, turning towards the laundry room.

“Just sit down and have some coffee,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I already put the cream and sugar in for you.”

“Thank you!” Casey calls back, sitting down at the table. Dave stands in front of the machine and dumps Casey’s clothes inside before adding the detergent. He’s about to close the lid when it dawns on him that Casey’s sitting at his kitchen table, in Dave’s clothes, while Dave’s dad is at work, and Casey isn’t wearing any underwear.

Fuck.

Dave stands at the washing machine for longer than necessary, trying to make his brain think about anything other than Casey’s freckles and Casey’s skinny little hips that can’t hold up Dave’s pants and _oh god_ Casey’s lack of underpants beneath those pants that keep falling off. He takes a couple of deep breaths and then forces a smile onto his face as he walks back into the kitchen. “All set. It shouldn’t take too long to get them clean and dry.”

“Thank you,” Casey murmurs, his hands both wrapped around his mug of coffee. “I couldn’t go home like that.” He shrugs a little, and the neck of the too-large shirt slips slightly down his shoulder. “You know how it is.”

Dave swallows again at the sight of the freckled shoulder. “You couldn’t walk around the rest of the day like that, period,” he counters. “It’s still winter.”

“Oh, it would have be alright, I guess,” Casey says. “I mean, it was uncomfortable, but mostly it was just...it wasn’t the being sticky and wet that was the worst part.”

“It wasn’t?” Dave asks. “‘Cause man, I hate the sticky part.”

“Well, the sticky part wasn’t great!” Casey grins, but then his smile falters. “It was just, it came out of nowhere. I thought everything was okay and then, bam. It was kind of a shock, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Dave nods. “I wasn’t expecting it either, not today. I guess maybe I should’ve, after I heard about what ben Israel did, but I didn’t.”

“He’s _awful_ ,” Casey says. “He’s just the worst human being. It’s so awful. Poor Santana.” He props his right arm up on the table and rests his chin on his palm, a lock of wet hair falling in his face. He puffs air up at it to blow it off his face, but it doesn’t budge. Dave chuckles a little and grasps his mug to fight the reflex to reach across the table and push it aside for Casey.

After a few more futile puffs, Casey reaches up with his hand and rakes all his hair straight back from his forehead. Dave can’t stop his eyes from tracing the path Casey’s fingers make and after just a second he drops his eyes to his coffee mug, staring into the dark liquid. “I don’t think any of your teachers this afternoon will give you trouble about missing,” he says, desperately wracking his brain for something to say.

Casey shrugs, resting his elbows back on the table. “I don’t know if they’ll even notice I’m not there, other than Mr. Grecoe. His is the only class I really talk in. Anyway, I don’t think it matters even if they do.”

“I can talk to Mr. Grecoe, if he says anything.” Dave shrugs. “It was kind of my idea. Don’t you have drivers’ ed and Spanish in the afternoon? I bet Schuester will figure out what’s going on, and that old bat that teaches drivers’ ed, I swear. I don’t think it should still be legal for _her_ to drive.”

“She doesn’t call roll, anyway, but if she did, if all of them noticed, I still wouldn’t care,” Casey says, lifting his chin. “Let ‘em say something.”

Dave grins. “Yeah. Hopefully I can get some notes for stats from Mike, but if not, I’ll just tell the prof I had a personal emergency.” He stops. “Or Puckerman, but.” He shakes his head. The last thing that the day needs is more gossip, no matter what he’s observed all year long.

A strange look flits across Casey’s face, quickly replaced by a sweet smile. “I don’t want you to miss your classes. They’re important!”

“One day, I’ll be fine,” Dave assures him. “We just had a test on Friday, so I bet they’ll spend most of the class reviewing that.”

“You can just drop me back off at school, or I can walk home from here, if you need to go,” Casey protests. “I don’t mind. You’ve already done too much for me. I mean, shirt off your own back!” Casey exclaims, spreading his arms out to indicate the billowing t-shirt.

Dave laughs. “I haven’t fit in that shirt in almost two years, Case. Seriously, it’s fine. Once your clothes are dry, I can just drop you off at home, okay?”

“Okay,” Casey agrees, biting his lip a little as he smiles up at Dave, his cheeks pinking slightly.

“You have any homework?”

Casey shakes his head. “Nothing from my morning classes, and well,” he shrugs. “Nothing from my afternoon classes, too, I guess.”

“Are you still reading _Fellowship of the Ring_ for English? I have the movie, we could watch that.”

“We’re almost done with it!” Casey bounces a little in his seat. “I really wanted to see that movie!” His face falls a little. “It’s kind of long, though. I don’t want to keep you from doing other stuff.”

“Case, I love that movie.” Dave grins. “It’s a great excuse to rewatch it. C’mon.” Dave stands up and walks into the living room, busying himself with inserting the DVD and then deliberately sitting himself in the recliner with the remote. Sitting on the couch while the movie is on, the room fairly dark thanks to the windows facing north? Dave can see ‘disaster’ written all over that.

Casey follows Dave into the living room, hiking up the slipping waistband of the pants as he walks. He gives Dave an almost puzzled look before settling himself into the exact center of the sofa, legs curled up under him, the rest of his body curved around his legs.

“I love this movie,” Dave repeats. “I mean, I love the book, too, but Peter Jackson did such a phenomenal job adapting them to the screen.”

“Awesome,” Casey breathes. “It’s so cool you have this.”

Dave just nods and hits play, settling back in the recliner as the logo flares to life. At first, Casey squeals throughout the movie, but around the time that Dave gets up to put Casey’s clothes into the dryer, Casey grows more quiet. Two-thirds of the way through the movie, Dave looks over to see Casey fast asleep, curled into a tiny ball against the armrest. Dave shakes his head and grabs the throw blanket from the back of the recliner before draping it over Casey’s still form. “Sleep tight,” he whispers, then settles back into his seat. His dad’s usually at the office until at least six, but if Casey sleeps longer, maybe Paul will help Dave convince Casey to stay for dinner.


End file.
